by Guy d'Armen
“I see you have returned, Jalue, and with these two. They were not unexpected.”
His voice was grating, but also full of strength and confidence, verging on insolence.
“If you know of them, then you know they can easily defeat your rag-tag band of thieves and murderers,” said Jalue. “Tell them to go at once, and they shall be spared.”
“I do not fear your friends, Jalue,” said the dugpa. “Rather it is they who should fear me.”
The dugpa seemed to have taken no notice of Jalue’s men, but Ardan saw them all take several steps back as if of their own will, but the young man knew otherwise.
Ardan could feel the same powerful impulse to surrender, dictated by a will which was not his own. Fortunately, the psychic shield erected by the blessing of the Living Fo deflected the dugpa’s evil thought against its originator, and the young man saw Dvagpo wince, either in frustration or actual pain, he could not tell.
Had the dugpa managed to seize control of him, Ardan shuddered at the thought of what might have been.
Meanwhile, Jalue muttered some kind of mantra and his men relaxed.
“You are powerless here, Dvagpo,” said Jalue. “Leave and you shall be spared.”
“I think not,” replied the dugpa, muttering evil curses under his breath.
But he did return to his men, and Ardan noticed with some pleasure that his steps were now far less confident than they had been when he had come to meet them.
“I’m afraid, fight we must,” sighed Jalue. “But his men’s confidence in him will have waned. They have just seen him defeated by the two giants, and if they have the numbers, we have the belief.”
Indeed, Dvagpo’s men first formed a thin line across the road, keeping the two cannons in the center.
Then, they moved forward and when they were about three hundred yards away, both guns fired simultaneously in billows of smoke.
Ardan shouted to his men to flatten themselves on the ground, and they obeyed.
But the bandits’ guns were neither accurate nor very modern, because two cannonballs made of stone came crashing into the ground near where they stood.
xxx When Ardan grabbed the cannonball, he saw that it had been clumsily polished, and the exploding gases had had space to go between the ball and the inside of the gun, which explained the smoke. Also, that caused the ball to twist in the air, making the results of the shot very imprecise.
The cannons shot several times, and Ardan contented himself with grabbing the balls when they landed and piling them up
Then, with one olympic-style gesture, he grabbed one of the cannon balls and threw it back at the enemy.
The young man’s aim was a lot better than that of the cannons and his ball landed right on top of the artillery men, crushing them or maiming them.
Suleyma followed suit and, although less precise than her companion, her shots sowed devastation amongst the enemy. When she ran out of cannonballs, she started throwing boulders, with the same devastating effects.
The bandits began running around in total chaos to avoid the murderous shower of stones.
As luck would have it, Dvagpo was trampled by the men trying to run away, stumbled to the ground, and was killed by the next stone.
The death of the dugpa was the last straw. They had been told that the combination of his powers and the two cannons would grant them an easy victory, and instead they faced many losses and a crushing defeat.
The surviving bandits surrendered en masse to Jalue, while his men, overwhelmed with joy, rushed into the lamasery to release the monks and the other residents kept prisoner inside.
As Jalue, Ardan and Suleyma stepped inside the lamasery, the occupants looked in wonder at the two giants, as tall as their houses. No doubt the story of their triumph, and their supernatural powers, would soon grow in the telling!
As they walked towards the temple, they were met by another lama, whose name was Batsaikhan.
“Wait!” he warned them. “There is another dugpa holed up in the Red Tower. He threatens to blow up the Temple and the lamasery if the two giants are not delivered to him at once.”
“Can we believe his threat?” asked Ardan, skeptical.
“Yes, I think so,” replied Batsaikhan. “He has strange and fearsome powers. But surely, your own god-like powers are enough to protect us?”
“I may have powers,” said Ardan, “but I am not a god. I can use my strength and my wits to try to defeat any enemy, but I cannot stop an explosion or divert the course of a bullet in mid-air.”
“Our friend speaks wisely,” interjected Jalue. “Let me talk to this dugpa. He will not fear me because of my great age, and perhaps I can reason with him.”
Jalue went alone inside the Red Tower. Long minutes went by while the anxious crowd awaited his return.
Finally, he came out and said:
“I think you may go in. I do not think he means you any harm—quite the opposite, in fact. And he is not a dugpa after all—although he may have been one, once.”
Pressed to explain his mysterious words, the lama refused to say anymore and merely pointed out the entrance of the tower to his friends.
Finally, Ardan shrugged.
“Come,” he told Suleyma. “We might as well see what’s going on for ourselves!”
As they stepped inside the tower, Ardan wondered who might be waiting for them. They climbed a few steps and found themselves in a richly decorated hall. Inside was a statue of Magjid Janraisig, the lord who looks in every direction, ten-foot-tall and covered with precious stones
The answer was not long in coming when a tall man suddenly pulled the curtain that had hidden his presence in a side chapel.
Despite the changes that had occurred in him since he had last seen him, Ardan recognized him at once.
It was Kyzyl Kaya—the Comte de Bertheville!
CHAPTER XXIII
Redemption
The first thing Ardan noticed that that Kyzyl Kaya now looked old—very old.
Gone was the mephistophelean scientist who had bragged about his powers over nature and his dreams of world conquest. In his place stood an old man, still robust, but unmistakably subject to the depredations of old age.
“What happened to you?” was the only thing Ardan could bring himself to mutter.
“Fate, Doctor Ardan, fate,” replied the Comte with a sad smile.
He went to sit on a golden chair to tell his story.
“When you scratched me with the leg of that tarantula during our battle several days ago, little did we know that you had spelled my doom, for the mutated arachnid’s blood contained a substance unknown to me that immediately neutralized the effect of my cellular growth rejuvenating potion—and I began to age. I tried counteracting it with every means at my disposal, but quickly realized that I was powerless. I am now doomed to die, like the rest of humanity. I probably have no more than a few months left...”
“And you went looking for us for revenge?” asked Suleyma.
The Comte swiped his brow with his hand, visibly tired.
“No, my dear,” he responded. “I confess that initially that was my first impulse, which is why I contacted the dugpas by thought transmission. But as old age slowly crept upon me, another amazing transformation occurred: I became good again!”
“What do you mean, good?” questioned Ardan, skeptical.
“I meant that all the evil impulses and mad dreams that I had cherished for so long just left me. I became the idealistic Comte de Bertheville again, the man who had left his beloved France so long ago on a quest to find cures for the world’s ills. I now feel only disgust at the mad Kyzyl Kaya that I became. Perhaps it was a side effect of my immortality process, something that fed the evil self within my soul and helped him achieve dominance over me, as it is said to have once happened to Doctor Jekyll. Or maybe, man is not made for immortality, that turns him mad and hungry for power...”
“I am sincerely glad that you have abandoned your crazy sch
emes, but, in that case, why have you been seeking us?”
“To atone for my sins and restore you to your natural sizes, of course!”
“You can do that here?” said Ardan, surprised.
“Yes. One of the reasons I went along with Dvagpo and pretended to still be his ally, was because I knew that this lamasery contained the only gem outside of my underground city that, properly used, can reverse the process to which I subjected you.”
Walking towards the altar, the Comte opened a gold chest, which Ardan noticed was lined inside with lead, and revealed a bright violet gemstone which shone with unearthly radiance despite the fact no source of light fell upon it.
“These gems date back to the time of the Ancients,” the Comte explained. “They were each designed to emit certain type of rays, still unknown to modern science, that have the powers to affect living matter. I myself mastered the use of the green, the yellow, the orange and the violet gems. If controlled with extreme precision, the rays emitted by each category of gem can produce amazing results. The orange gem, as you saw, can cause the atoms of living cells to grow; the violet gem, on the other hand, has curative and restorative powers...”
“What about other gems?” inquired Ardan, fascinated by these revelations.
“The green gem has mutative powers and the yellow gem generates power out of living matter—I used it to power my underground city. I did find a blue gem once, but it self-destructed before I could fathom its power. That is all.”
The Comte then pulled two pairs of blue goggles from his tunic, as well as a vial of a green liquid and a strange wand made of a silver metal. He grabbed the violet gem and, with a gesture, invited Ardan and Suleyma to follow him to a smaller cell, which could be shut with a heavy door reinforced by metal bars.
“This is a treasure chamber, which I had emptied beforehand, in prevision of this moment. Here is what will happen. I am going to use this wand to stir the atoms of the violet gem, and it will start emitting its miraculous rays. I will leave, and you must bolt the door after I have gone, because it would be dangerous for anyone else to step in here while the gem is still active. Then you must lie on the stone floor and wear these goggles to protect your eyes. In order for the restorative process to work, you need to be asleep for three days, so you will drink this potion...”
He gave them the goggles and vial with the green liquid and continued:
“...Then in just under three days, you will be back to normal. Have you understood my instructions?”
Ardan tried the bolt once or twice and nodded affirmatively.
“Very well. We shall begin,” said the Comte.
With the wand, he touched the gem and did something Ardan could neither understand nor even fathom, but the stone began slowly but surely radiating an ever more intense violet glow.
The Comte deposited it delicately on the ground.
“I shall see you again in three days,” he said as he walked out.
Ardan bolted the door behind him. He and Suleyma put on the blue glasses, went to lie on the stone floor and each swallowed a good sip of the green potion.
They fell unconscious almost immediately.
When they awoke, they could see right away by looking at their seemingly “larger” surroundings that they had shrunk in size—although not quite to their previous measurements.
Ardan was now 6 feet 8 inches and Suleyma 6 feet.
The violet gem was now dull, having lost all its color, as if it had spent all the energy it contained.
Ardan unbolted the heavy door, and the Comte de Bertheville walked in. He performed a perfunctory physical examination on both of them, and nodded with satisfaction.
“You’re both back to normal, without any negative side effects,” he said.
Then he looked at the now-darkened gem.
“I expected that to happen,” he said. “It was almost spent. You were very lucky.”
As Ardan and Suleyma walked out, they were welcomed by Jalue, Batsaikhan and many others.
“You are indeed gifted with god-like powers,” said the lama. “How else could you have changed sizes so easily to walk again amongst men?”
“This is not magic, but science,” Ardan said, trying to correct the lama. But he realized that he was wasting his time and nothing would ever convince the Tibetans that he wasn’t a master of many sizes, native of the mythical realm of Uttarakuru.
After they were done with the congratulations, Ardan asked about the Comte’s behavior during their cure.
“He has been waiting here, checking on you from time to time. I have seen his soul and believe in the sincerity of his contrition. He now wishes to return with you to China and atone for whatever evil he might have done.”
“Good,” said Ardan. “There is much that a man with his science can do to help the world.”
“We will provide you, of course, with an escort that will take you as far as Urga. From there, you can easily travel safely to Beijing and then Shanghai.”
The next day, Ardan, Suleyma, the Comte and four horsemen selected by Jalue left the lamasery of the Five Towers, riding east. It would take them between ten to fifteen days to reach Urga, which was a little under 400 miles away.
After five days without any notable incidents, they had decided to spend the following night in Jargalant, where the Comte said he had a contact—a Chinese alchemist who had often provided him with rare substances and products from the West.
As they were discussing the itinerary that lie ahead, Ardan noticed that the Count had frowned after looking at the mountain ridge over the horizon.
“What is it?” he asked.
“It may be nothing,” replied the Comte, “but I feel as if we’re being followed...”
“By whom?”
“My eyesight is obviously not as sharp as it once was, but I could swear it was Chakar...”
“Chakar?”
“The head of my Tartar legions—or former head. Before I left, I sabotaged the underground city and destroyed all my scientific installations. If the local tribes learn that I have gone and come to exact revenge, I can’t suppose that he would be very happy...”
“You mean, when the local tribes... And you’re right, we should redouble our vigilance.”
The sight of Jargalant ended the conversation, but Ardan resolved to be more cautious. They were not out of danger yet!
CHAPTER XXIV
The Last Battle
They were greeted by the old alchemist of Jargalant, whose name was Ko, with open arms.
“You are all welcome to spend the night under my roof,” he said. I shall order my servants to prepare a meal and tend to your horses.”
While the four men of their escort were given accommodation in the servants’ quarter, Ko invited the Comte, Ardan and Suleyma to dine with him.
During the sumptuous dinner, during which the Comte gave a brief report of the recent changes in his situation to Ko. The old alchemist approved of the Comte’s transformation and of the destruction of the gems and machines of the underground city.
They then discussed the itinerary of the next day.
“You will have to cross the Tuin river here,” said Ko, showing them the direction of the road on a map. “Unfortunately, because of the recent storms and the melting of the snow in the Kanghai Mountains upriver, the water level has nearly quintupled and all the fords have become almost impassable. It will be very dangerous. Perhaps it would be wiser to wait here until the conditions improve?”
“How long?” asked Ardan.
“About a week, I think,” replied Ko.
Ardan thought of their mysterious followers and shook his head.
“We mustn’t wait that long. We will take our chances.”
“Very well. I will burn some incense tonight and ask the Spirit of the river to extend his protection to you.”
In the morning, Ko advised the travelers that the response of the Spirit of the river had been less than positive, and suggested again tha
t they should wait for better conditions, but Ardan refused to change his mind.
“Let the Buddha’s will be done then,” said Ko, “and may the Spirit be merciful.”
The little troupe rode most of the day without stopping, in order to be able to cross the Tuin before nightfall.
As they reached mid-afternoon, they heard the characteristic sounds of horses in pursuit behind them.
The Comte had been right the day before: it was indeed Chakar who, leading a dozen warriors, all armed with rifles, was coming after them in this barren plain, without any trees or natural shelters where they could find refuge.
The Tartars were superior in numbers, and better armed, so they had no choice but to run, cross the river, and make a stand on the other side. There, they might be able to stop their enemies from crossing, and whittle their numbers down.
A mad pursuit began. Fortunately their horses were fresh, having spent a good night, and well fed, unlike Chakar’s mounts that had traveled non-stop since Black Lake.
They soon gained ground, although they saw that their pursuers were not abandoning the chase.
As they reached the Tuin, they beheld with considerable dismay the wide, raging, tumultuous waters ahead of them. There was a “ferry” of sorts—nothing more than two dozen planks of wood tied together into a platform, with a fragile railing, tethered to a thick rope that spanned the river’s width.
It would have been quite a feat under normal circumstances to cross the Tuin on such a ramshackle device, but it was sheer suicide to do it under the current conditions.
Nevertheless, they had no choice.
They all got onto the ferry. Two men amongst those who comprised their escort used the heavy wooden oars that came with the ferry to push it into the middle of the river, while Ardan, Suleyma and the other two men all grasped the rope to stop the platform from being carried away by the raging current.
While fighting the river, they saw their pursuers reach the bank, but there was nothing they could now do. There was no way they could cross the Tuin on horseback.
