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Updated: April 30, 2025
Making an effort to overcome the sick giddiness that confused his brain, he looked up, a bright lamp flared in his eyes, contrasting so dazzlingly with the surrounding gloom that for a moment he was half-blinded by its brilliancy, but presently steadying his gaze he was able to discern the dark outline of a tall, black-garmented figure standing beside him, the figure of an old man, whose severe and dignified aspect at first reminded him somewhat of the prophet Khosrul.
Thou hast overstepped the limit of our leniency, and madman as thou art, thou showest a madman's cunning, thou dost break the laws and art dangerous to the realm, thou art proved a traitor, and must straightway die. Thou art accused..." "Of honesty!" interrupt Khosrul suddenly, with a touch of melancholy satire in his tone. "I have spoken Truth in an age of lies! 'Tis a most death-worthy deed!"
Yet, . . warn him against what? So had said Zuriel the Mystic, but to the laurelled favorite of the monarch, and idol of the people, such an admonition would seem more than absurd! It was useless to talk to him about the prophecies of Khosrul, he had heard them all, and laughed them to scorn.
Many strange suggestions began to glimmer ghost-like through this same Adagio, the fair, dead face of Niphrata flitted past him, as a wandering moonbeam flits athwart a cloud, then came flashing reflections of light and color, the bewildering dazzlement of Lysia's beauty shone before the eyes of his memory with a blinding lustre as of flame, . . the phantasmagoria of the city of Al-Kyris seemed to float in the air like a faintly discovered mirage ascending from the sea, again he saw its picturesque streets, its domes and bell-towers, its courts and gardens.. again he heard the dreamy melody of the dance that had followed the death of Nir-jalis, and saw the cruel Lysia's wondrous garden lying white in the radiance of the moon; anon he beheld the great Square, with its fallen Obelisk and the prostrate, lifeless form of the Prophet Khosrul.. and.. Oh, most sad and dear remembrance of all! ... the cherished Shadow of Himself, the brilliant, the joyous Sah-luma appeared to beckon him from the other side of some vast gulf of mist and darkness, with a smile that was sorrowful, yet persuasive; a smile that seemed to say "O friend, why hast thou left me as though I were a dead thing and unworthy of regard?
The figure of Elzear looked scarcely more substantial than the phantom-forms of Sah-luma, Zephoranim, Khosrul, Zuriel, or Zabastes, while Lysia's exquisite face and seductive form, Niphrata's pensive beauty, and all the local characteristics of the place, were stamped on the dreamer's memory as faithfully as scenes flashed by the sun on the plates of photography!
Wilt prophesy? ... wilt denounce the Faith? ... Wilt mislead the people? ... Wilt curse the King? ... Thou mad sorcerer! devil bewitched and blasphemous! ... What shall hinder me from at once slaying thee?" And he half drew his formidable sword from its sheath. Khosrul met his threatening gaze unflinchingly.
It was designed some twenty years ago by the inspired Chief of our Order, Khosrul, and such as are still his faithful disciples wear it as a record and constant reminder of his famous Prophecy." Theos heard, and a dull apathy stole over him, his recent excitement died out under a chilling weight of vague yet bitter disappointment.
"What is this Khosrul?" he thought half resentfully "and how dares he predict for the adored, the admired Sah-luma so dark and unmerited an end? ... "Hark! ... what was that low, far-off rumbling as of underground wheels rolling at full speed? ... He listened, then glanced at those persons who stood nearest to him, . . no one seemed to hear anything unusual.
"Death and fury!" he shouted, striking his sword with a fierce clang against the silver pedestal of the throne, . . "Where is Khosrul?" The silence of an absolute dismay answered him, ... Khosrul had fled!
Not one, . . but ye are cultured hypocrites all, and careful to keep your heresies secret!" "And thou, Lysia!" suddenly cried Nir-jalis, . . "Why if thou canst so liberally admire the valor of thy sworn enemy Khosrul, why dost not THOU step boldly forth, and abjure the Faith thou art Priestess of, yet in thy heart deridest as a miserable superstition?"
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