Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Eight Book 22)

by Marie Corelli

  “That was kind!” she said, and smiled. Some one smiled in response — or she thought so. Presently she spoke again —

  “Then you hold me here a prisoner?”

  “No. You can return the way you came, quite freely.”

  “May I not come down and see your city?” “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you are not one of us.” The Voice hesitated. “And because you are not alone.”

  Morgana glanced at the prostrate and unconscious forms of Rivardi and Gaspard with a touch of pity.

  “My companions are half dead!” she said.

  “But not wholly!” was the prompt reply.

  “Is it that force you speak of — the force which guards your city — that has struck them down?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Then why was I not also struck down?”

  “Because you are what you are!” Then — after a silence— “You are Morgana!”

  At this every nerve in her body started quivering like harp strings pulled by testing fingers. The unseen speaker knew her name! — and uttered it with a soft delicacy that made it sound more than musical. She leaned forward, extending a hand as though to touch the invisible.

  “How do you know me?” she asked.

  “As we all know you,” — came the answer— “Even as YOU have known the inside of a sun-ray!”

  She listened, amazed — utterly mystified. Whoever or whatever it was that spoke knew not only her name, but the trend of her earliest studies and theories. The “inside of a sun-ray”! This was what she had only the other day explained to Father Aloysius as being her first experience of real happiness! She tried to set her thoughts in order — to realise her position. Here she was, a fragile human thing, in a flying ship of her own design, held fast by atmospheric force above an unknown city situate somewhere in the Great Desert, — and some one in that city was conversing with her by a method of “wireless” as yet undiscovered by admitted science, — yet communication was perfect and words distinct. Following up the suggestion presented to her she said —

  “You are speaking to me in English. Are you all English folk in your city?”

  A faint quiver as of laughter vibrated through the “Sound Ray.”

  “No, indeed! We have no nationality.”

  “No nationality?”

  “None. We are one people. But we speak every language that ever has been spoken in the past, or is spoken in the present. I speak English to you because it is your manner of talk, though not your manner of life.”

  “How do you know it is not my manner of life?”

  “Because you are not happy in it. Your manner of life is ours. It has nothing to do with nations or peoples. You are Morgana.”

  “And you?” she cried with sudden eagerness— “Oh, who are you that speak to me? — man, woman, or angel? What are the dwellers in your city, if it is in truth a city, and not a dream!”

  “Look again and see!” answered the Voice— “Convince yourself! — do not be deceived! You are not dreaming — Look and make yourself sure!”

  Impelled to movement, she went to the window which she had left to take up the steering-gear, — and from there saw again the wonderful scene spread out below, the towers, spires, cupolas and bridges, all lit with that mysterious golden luminance like smouldering sunset fire.

  “It is beautiful!” she said— “It seems true — it seems real—”

  “It IS true-it IS real!” — the Voice replied— “It has been seen by many travellers, — but because they can never approach it they call it a desert ‘mirage.’ It is more real and more lasting than any other city in the world.”

  “Can I never enter it?” she asked, appealingly— “Will you never let me in?”

  There was a silence, which seemed to her very long. Still standing at the window of her cabin she looked down on the shining city, a broad stretch of splendid gold luminance under the canopy of the dark sky with its millions of stars. Then the Voice answered her —

  “Yes — if you come alone!”

  These words sounded so close to her ear that she felt sure the speaker must be standing beside her.

  “I will come!” she said, impulsively— “Somehow — some way! — no matter how difficult or dangerous! I will come!”

  As she spoke she was conscious of a curious vibration round her, as though some other thing than the ceaseless, silent throbbing of the air-ship’s mechanism had disturbed the atmosphere.

  “Wait!” said the Voice— “You say this without thought. You do not realise the meaning of your words. For — if you come, you must stay!”

  A thrill ran through her blood.

  “I must stay!” she echoed— “Why?”

  “Because you have learned the Life-Secret,” — answered the Voice— “And, as you have learned it, so must you live. I will tell you more if you care to hear—”

  An inrush of energy came to her as she listened — she felt that the unseen speaker acknowledged the power which she herself knew she possessed.

  “With all my soul I care to hear!” she said— “But where do you speak from? And who are you that speak?”

  “I speak from the central Watch-Tower,” — the Voice replied— “The City is guarded from that point — and from there we can send messages all over the world in every known language. Sometimes they are understood — more often they are ignored, — but we, who have lived since before the coming of Christ, have no concern with such as do not or will not hear. Our business is to wait and watch while the ages go by, — wait and watch till we are called forth to the new world. Sometimes our messages cross the ‘wireless’ Marconi system — and some confusion happens — but generally the ‘Sound Ray’ carries straight to its mark. You must well understand all that is implied when you say you will come to us, — it means that you leave the human race as you have known it and unite yourself with another human race as yet unknown to the world!”

  Here was an overwhelming mystery — but, nothing daunted, Morgana pursued her enquiry.

  “You can talk to me on the Sound Ray” — she said— “And I understand its possibility. You should equally be able to project your own portrait — a true similitude of yourself — on a Light Ray. Let me see you!”

  “You are something of a wilful spirit!” answered the Voice— “But you know many secrets of our science and their results. So — as you wish it—”

  Another second, and the cabin was filled with a pearly lustre like the vapour which sweeps across the hills in an early summer dawn — and in the center of this as in an aureole stood a nobly proportioned figure, clad in gold-coloured garments fashioned after the early Greek models. Presumably this personage was human, — but never was a semblance of humanity so transfigured. The face and form were those of a beautiful youth, — the eyes were deep and brilliant, — and the expression of the features was one of fine serenity and kindliness. Morgana gazed and gazed, bending herself towards her wonderful visitor with all her soul in her eyes, — when suddenly the vision, if so it might be called, paled and vanished. She uttered a little cry.

  “Oh, why have you gone so soon?” she exclaimed.

  “It is not I who have gone,” — replied the Voice— “It is only the reflection of me. We cannot project a light picture too far or too long. And even now — when you come to us — if you ever do come! — do you think you will remember me?”

  “How could I forget anyone so beautiful!” she said, with passionate enthusiasm.

  This time the Sound Ray conveyed a vibration of musical laughter.

  “Where every being has beauty for a birthright, how should you know me more than another!” said the Voice— “Beauty is common to all in our city — as common as health, because we obey the Divine laws of both.”

  She stretched out her hands appealingly.

  “Oh, if I could only come to you now!” she murmured.

  “Patience!” and the Voice grew softer— “There is something for yo
u to do in the world. You must lose a love before you find it!”

  She drew a quick breath. What could these words mean?

  “It is time for you now to turn homeward,” — went on the Voice— “You must not be seen above this City at dawn. You would be attacked and instantly destroyed, as having received a warning which you refused to heed.”

  “Do you attack and destroy all strangers so?” she asked— “Is that your rule?”

  “It is our rule to keep away the mischief of the modern world” — replied the Voice— “As well admit a pestilence as the men and women of to-day!”

  “I am a woman of to-day,” — said Morgana.

  “No, you are not, — you are a woman of the future!” and the Voice was grave and insistent— “You are one of the new race. At the appointed hour you will take your part with us in the new world?”

  “When will be that hour?”

  There was a pause. Then, with an exceeding sweetness and solemnity the Voice replied —

  “If He will that we tarry till He come, what is that to thee?”

  A sense of great awe swept over her, oppressive and humiliating. She looked once more through her cabin window at the city spread out below, and saw that some of the lights were being extinguished in the taller buildings and on the bridges which connected streets and avenues in a network of architectural beauty.

  The Voice spoke again —

  “We are releasing you from the barrier. You are free to depart.”

  She sighed.

  “I have no wish to go!” she said.

  “You must!” The Voice became commanding. “If you stay now, you and your companions are doomed to perish. There is no alternative. Be satisfied that we know you — we watch you — we shall expect you sooner or later. Meanwhile — guide your ship! — the way is open.”

  Quickly she sprang to the steering-gear — she felt the “White Eagle” moving, and lifting its vast wings for flight.

  “Farewell!” she cried, with a sense of tears in her throat— “Farewell!”

  “Not farewell!” came the reply, spoken softly and with tenderness— “We shall meet again soon! I will speak to you in Sicily!”

  “In Sicily!” she exclaimed, joyfully— “You will speak to me there?”

  “There and everywhere!” answered the Voice— “The Sound Ray knows no distance. I shall speak — and you shall hear — whenever you will!”

  The last syllables died away like faintly sung music — and in a few more seconds the great air-ship was sailing steadily in a level line and at a swift pace onward, — the last shining glimpse of the mysterious City vanished, and the “White Eagle” soared over a sable blackness of empty desert, through a dark space besprinkled with stars. Filled with a new sense of power and gladness, Morgana held the vessel in the guidance of her slight but strong hands, and it had flown many miles before the Marchese Rivardi sprang up suddenly from where he had lain lost in unconsciousness and stared around him amazed and confused.

  “A thousand pardons, Madama!” he stammered— “I shall never forgive myself! I have been asleep!”

  CHAPTER XIX

  At almost the same moment Gaspard stumbled to his feet.

  “Asleep — asleep!” he exclaimed— “Mon Dieu! — the shame of it! — the shame! What pigs are men! To sleep after food and wine, and to leave a woman alone like this!... the shame!”

  Morgana, quietly steering the “White Eagle,” smiled.

  “Poor Gaspard!” she said— “You could not help it! You were so tired! And you, Marchese! You were both quite worn out! I was glad to see you sleeping — there is no shame in it! As I have often told you, I can manage the ship alone.”

  But Rivardi was white with anger and self-reproach.

  “Gross pigs we are!” he said, hotly— “Gaspard is right! And yet—” here he passed a hand across his brow and tried to collect his thoughts— “yes! — surely something unusual must have happened! We heard bells ringing—”

  Morgana watched him closely, her hand on her air-vessel’s helm.

  “Yes — we all thought we heard bells” — she said— “But that was a noise in our own brains — the clamour of our own blood brought on by pressure — we were flying at too great a height and the tension was too strong—”

  Gaspard threw out his hands with a half defiant gesture.

  “No, Madama! It could not be so! I swear we never left our own level! What happened I cannot tell — but I felt that I was struck by a sudden blow — and I fell without force to recover—”

  “Sleep struck you that sudden blow, you poor Gaspard!” said Morgana, “And you have not slept so long — barely an hour — just long enough for me to hover a while above this black desert and then turn homeward, — I want no more of the Sahara!”

  Rivardi, smarting under a sense of loss and incompetency, went up to her.

  “Give me the helm!” he said, almost sharply— “You have done enough!”

  She resigned her place to him, smiling at his irritation.

  “You are sure you are quite rested?” she asked.

  “Rested!” he echoed the word disdainfully— “I should never have rested at all had I been half the man I profess to be! Why do you turn back? I thought you were bent on exploring the Great Desert! — that you meant to try and find the traditional Brazen City?”

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  “I do not like the prospect” — she said— “There is nothing but sand — interminable billows of sand! I can well believe it was all ocean once, — when the earth gave a sudden tilt, and all the water was thrown off from one surface to another. If we could dig deep enough below the sand I think we should find remains of wrecked ships, with the skeletons of antediluvian men and animals, remains of one of the many wasted civilisations—”

  “You do not answer me—” interrupted Rivardi with impatience— “What of your search for the Brazen City?”

  She raised her lovely, mysterious eyes and looked full at him.

  “Do you believe it exists?” she asked.

  He gave a gesture of annoyance.

  “Whether I believe or not is of no importance,” — he answered— “YOU have some idea about it, and you have every means of proving the truth of your idea — yet, after making the journey from Sicily for the purpose, you suddenly turn back!”

  Still she kept her eyes upon him.

  “You must not mind the caprices of a woman!” she said, with a smile— “And do please remember the ‘Brazen City’ is not MY idea! The legend of this undiscovered place in the desert was related by your friend Don Aloysius — and he was careful to say it was ‘only’ a legend. Why should you think I accept it as a truth?”

  “Surely it was the motive of your flight here?” he demanded, imperatively.

  Her brows drew together in a slight frown.

  “My dear Marchese, I allow no one to question my motives” — she said with sudden coldness— “That I have decided to go no farther in search of the Brazen City is my own affair.”

  “But — not even to wait for the full daylight!” he expostulated— “You could not see it by night even if it existed!”

  “Not unless it was lit like other cities!” she said, smiling— “I suppose if such a city existed, its inhabitants would need some sort of illuminant — they would not grope about in the dark. In that case it would be seen from our ship as well by night as by day.”

  Gaspard, busy with some mechanical detail, looked up.

  “Then why not make a search for it while we are here?” he said— “You evidently believe in it!”

  “I have turned the ‘White Eagle’ homeward, and shall not turn again” — she said— “But I do not see any reason why such a city should not exist and be discovered some day. Explorers in tropical forests find the remains or beginnings of a different race of men from our own — pygmies, and such like beings — there is nothing really against the possibility of an undiscovered City in the Great Desert. We modern folk
think we know a great deal — but our wisdom is very superficial and our knowledge limited. We have not mastered EVERYTHING under the sun!”

  The Marchese Rivardi looked at her with something of defiance in his glance.

  “I will adventure in search of the legendary city myself, alone!” he said.

  Morgana laughed, her clear little cold laugh of disdain.

  “Do so, my friend! Why not?” she said— “You are a daring airman on many forms of airships — I knew that, — before I entrusted you with the scheme of mine. Discover the legendary ‘Brazen City’ if you can! — I promise not to be jealous! — and return to the world of curiosity mongers — (also, if you CAN!) with a full report of its inhabitants and their manners and customs. And so — you will become famous! But you must not fall asleep on the way!”

  He paled with anger and annoyance, — she still smiled.

  “Do not be cross, AMICO!” she said, sweetly. “Think where we are! — in the wide spaces of heaven, pilgrims with the stars! This is no place for personal feeling of either disappointment or irritation. You asked me a while ago if I was tired — I thought I was Hot, but I am — very tired! — I am going to rest. And I trust you both to take care of me and the ‘White Eagle’!”

  “We are to make straight for Sicily?” he asked.

  “Yes — straight for Sicily.”

  She retired into her sleeping-cabin and disappeared. The Marchese Rivardi looked at Gaspard questioningly.

  “We must obey her, I suppose?”

  “We could not think of disobeying!” returned Gaspard.

  “She is a strange woman!” and as he spoke Rivardi gripped his steering-gear with a kind of vindictive force— “It seems absurd that we, — two men of fair intelligence and scientific attainment, — should be ruled by her whim, — her fancies — for after all she is made up of fancies—”

  Gaspard shook his finger warningly.

  “This air-ship is not a ‘whim’ or a ‘fancy’” — he said, impressively— “It is the most wonderful thing of its kind ever invented! If it is given to the world it will revolutionise the whole system of aerial navigation. Here we are, flying at top speed in perfect ease and safety with no engine — nothing to catch fire — nothing to break or bust — and the whole mechanism mysteriously makes its own motive power as it goes. Radio-activity it may be — but its condensation and use for such a purpose is the secret invention of a woman — and surely we must admit her genius! As for our obedience — ECCELLENZA, we are both royally paid to obey!”