CHAPTER IX.
The green light
that filled the Shadowed-land was darkening. As the green forest darkens at
dusk. The sun must long since have dipped beneath the peaks circling that
illusory floor which was the sky of the Shadowed-land. Yet here the glow faded
slowly, as though it were not wholly dependent upon the sun, as though the
place had some luminosity of its own.
We sat beside the
tent of Evalie. It was pitched on a rounded knoll not far from the entrance of
her lair within the cliff. All along the base of the cliff were the lairs of
the Little People, tiny openings through which none larger than they could
creep into the caves that were their homes, their laboratories, their
workshops, their storehouses and granaries, their impregnable fortresses.
It had been hours
since we had followed her over the plain between the watch-tower and her tent.
The golden pygmies had swarmed from every side, curious as children, chattering
and trilling, questioning Evalie, twittering her answers to those on the
outskirts of the crowd. Even now there was a ring of them around the base of
the knoll, dozens of little men and little women, staring up at us with their yellow
eyes, chirping and laughing. In the arms of the women were babies like tiniest
dolls, and like larger dolls were the older children who clustered at their
knees.
Child-like, their
curiosity was soon satisfied; they went back to their occupations and their
play. Others, curiosity not yet quenched, took their places.
I watched them
dancing upon the smooth grass. They danced in circling measures to the lilting
rhythm of their drums. There were other knolls upon the plain, larger and
smaller than that on which we were, and all of them as rounded and as
symmetrical. Around and over them the golden pygmies danced to the throbbing of
the little drums.
They had brought
us little loaves of bread, and oddly sweet but palatable milk and cheese, and
unfamiliar delicious fruits and melons. I was ashamed of the number of platters
I had cleaned. The little people had only watched, and laughed, and urged the
women to bring me more.
Jim said,
laughingly:"It's the food of the Yunwi Tsundsi you're eating. Fairy food,
Leif! You can never eat mortal food again."
I looked at
Evalie, and at the wine and amber beauty of her. Well, I could believe Evalie
had been brought up on something more than mortal food.
I studied the
plain for the hundredth time. The slope on which stood the squat towers was an
immense semi-circle, the ends of whose arcs met the black cliffs. It must
enclose, I thought, some twenty square miles. Beyond the thorned vines were the
brakes of the giant fern; beyond them, on the other side of the river, I could
glimpse the great trees. If there were forests on this side, I could not tell.
Nor what else there might be of living things. There was something to be
guarded against, certainly, else why the fortification, the defences?
Whatever else it
might be, this guarded land of the golden pygmies was a small Paradise, with
its stands of grain, its orchards, its vines and berries and its green fields.
I thought over
what Evalie had told us of herself, carefully and slowly tuning down the
trilling syllables of the little people into vocables we could understand. It
was an ancient tongue she spoke – one whose roots struck far deeper down in the
soil of Time than any I knew, unless it were the archaic Uighur itself. Minute
by minute I found myself mastering it with ever greater ease, but not so
rapidly as Jim. He had even essayed a few trills, to the pygmies' delight. More
than that, however, they had understood him. Each of us could follow Evalie's
thought better than she could ours.
Whence had the
Little People come into the Shadowed-land? And where had they learned that
ancient tongue? I asked myself that, and answered that as well ask how it came
that the Sumerians, whose great city the Bible calls Ur of the Chaldees, spoke
a Mongolian language. They, too, were a dwarfish race, masters of strange
sorceries, students of the stars. And no man knows whence they came into
Mesopotamia with their science full-blown. Asia is the Ancient Mother, and to
how many races she has given birth and watched blown away in dust none can say.
The transformation
of the tongue into the bird-like speech of the Little People, I thought I
understood. Obviously, the smaller the throat, the higher are the sounds
produced. Unless by some freak, one never hears a child with a bass voice. The
tallest of the Little People was no bigger than a six-year-old child. They
could not, perforce, sound the gutturals and deeper tones; so they had to
substitute other sounds. The natural thing, when you cannot strike a note in a
lower octave, is to strike that same note in a higher. And so they had, and in
time this had developed into the overlying pattern of trills and pipings,
beneath which, however, the essential structure persisted.
She remembered,
Evalie had told us, a great stone house. She thought she remembered a great
water. She remembered a land of trees which had become "white and
cold". There had been a man and a woman... then there was only the man...
and it was all like mist. All she truly remembered was the Little People... she
had forgotten there had ever been anything else... until we had come. She
remembered when she had been no bigger than the Little People... and how
frightened she was
when she began to be bigger than they. The Little People, the Rrrllya –
it is the closest I can come to the trill - loved her; they did as she told them
to do. They had fed and clothed and taught her, especially the mother of Sri,
whose life I had saved from the Death Flower. Taught her what? She looked at us
oddly, and only repeated -”taught me." Sometimes she danced with the
Little People and sometimes she danced for them – again the oddly secretive,
half-amused glance. That was all. How long ago had she been as small as the
Little People? She did not know - long and long ago. Who had named her Evalie?
She did not know.
I studied her,
covertly. There was not one thing about her to give a clue to her race.
Foundling, I knew, she must have been, the vague man and woman her father and
mother. But what had they been - of what country? No more than could her lips,
did her eyes or hair, colouring or body hint at answer.
She was more
changeling than I. A changeling of the mirage! Nurtured on food from Goblin
Market!
I wondered
whether she would change back again into everyday woman if I carried her out of
the Shadowed-land.
I felt the ring
touch my breast with the touch of ice.
Carry her away!
There was Khalk'ru to meet first - and the Witch-woman!
The green
twilight deepened; great fire-flies began to flash lanterns of pale topaz
through the flowering trees; a little breeze stole over the fern brakes, laden
with the fragrances of the far forest. Evalie sighed.
"You will
not leave me, Tsantawu?"
If he heard her,
he did not answer. She turned to me.
"You will
not leave me - Leif?"
"No!" I
said... and seemed to hear the drums of Khalk'ru beating down the lilting
tambours of the Little People like far-away mocking laughter.
The green
twilight had deepened into darkness, a luminous darkness, as though a full moon
were shining behind a cloud-veiled sky. The golden pygmies had stilled their
lilting drums; they were passing into their cliff lairs. From the distant
towers came the tap-tap-tap of the drums of the guards, whispering to each
other across the thorn-covered slopes. The fire-flies' lights were like the
lanterns of a goblin watch; great moths floated by on luminous silvery wings,
like elfin planes.
"Evalie,"
Jim spoke. "The Yunwi Tsundsi - the Little People - how long have they
dwelt here?"
"Always,
Tsantawu - or so they say."
"And those
others - the red-haired women?"
We had asked her
of those women before, and she had not answered, had tranquilly ignored the
matter, but now she replied without hesitation.
"They are of
the Ayjir - it was Lur the Sorceress who wore the wolfskin. She rules the Ayjir
with Yodin the High Priest and Tibur-Tibur the Laugher, Tibur the Smith. He is
not so tall as you, Leif, but he is broader of shoulder and girth, and he is
strong - strong! I will tell you of the Ayjir. Before it was as though a hand
were clasped over my lips - or was it my heart? But now the hand is gone.
"The Little
People say the Ayjir came riding here long and long and long ago. Then the
Rrrllya held the land on each side of the river. There were many of the Ayjir -
and many. Far more than now, many men and women where now are mainly women and
few men. They came as though in haste from far away, or so the little people
say their fathers told them. They were led by a - by a - I have no word! It has
a name, but that name I will not speak - no, not even within me! Yet it has a
shape... I have seen it on the banners that float from the towers of Karak...
and it is on the breasts of Lur and Tibur when they...”
She shivered and
was silent. A silver-winged moth dropped upon her hand, lifting and dropping
its shining wings; gently she raised it to her lips, wafted it away.
"All this
the Rrrllya - whom you call the Little People - did not then know. The Ayjir
rested. They began to build Karak, and to cut within the cliff their temple to
- to what had led them here. They built quickly at first, as though they feared
pursuit; but when none came, they built more slowly. They would have made my
little ones their servants, their slaves. The Rrrllya would not have it so.
There was war. The Little Ones lay in wait around Karak, and when the Ayjir
came forth, they killed them; for the Little Ones know all the - the life of the
plants, and so they know how to make their spears and arrows slay at once those
whom they only touch. And so, many of the Ayjir died.
"At last a
truce was made, and not because the Little People were being beaten, for they
were not. But for another reason. The Ayjir were cunning; they laid traps for
the little ones, and caught a number. Then this they did - they carried them to
the temple and sacrificed them to – to that which had led them here. By sevens
they took them to the temple, and one out of each seven they made watch that
sacrifice, then released him to carry to the Rrrllya the tale of what he had
seen.
"The first
they would not believe, so dreadful was the story of that sacrifice - but then
came the second and third and fourth with the same story. And a great dread and
loathing and horror fell upon the Little People. They made a covenant. They
would dwell upon this side of the river; the Ayjir should have the other. In
return the Ayjir swore by what had led them that never more should one of the
Little People be given in sacrifice to it. If one were caught in Ayjirland, he
would be killed - but not by the Sacrifice. And if any of the Ayjir should flee
Karak, seek refuge among the Rrrllya, they must kill that fugitive. To all of
this, because of that great horror, the Little People agreed. Nansur was
broken, so none could cross - Nansur, that spanned Nanbu, the white river, was
broken. All boats both of the Ayjir and the Rrrllya were destroyed, and it was
agreed no more should be built. Then, as further guard, the Little People took
the dalan'usa and set them in Nanbu, so none could cross by its waters. And so
it has been - for long and long and long."
"Dalan'usa,
Evalie - you mean the serpents?"
"Tlanu'se -
the leech," said Jim.
"The
serpents - they are harmless. I think you would not have stopped to talk to Lur
had you seen one of the dalan'usa, Leif," said Evalie, half-maliciously.
I filed that
enigma for further reference.
"Those two
we found beneath the death flowers. They had broken the truce?"
"Not broken
it. They knew what to expect if found, and were ready to pay. There are plants
that grow on the farther side of white Nanbu – and other things the Little Ones
need, and they are not to be found on this side. And so they swim Nanbu to get
them - the dalan'usa are their friends - and not often are they caught there.
But this day Lur was hunting a runaway who was trying to make her way to Sirk,
and she crossed their trail and ran them down, and laid them beneath the Death Flowers."
"But what
had the girl done - she was one of them?"
"She had
been set apart for the Sacrifice. Did you not see - she was taluli... with
child... ripening for... for...”
Her voice trailed
into silence. A chill touched me.
"But, of
course, you know nothing of that," she said. "Nor will I speak of it
- now. If Sri and Sra had found the girl before they, themselves, had been
discovered, they would have guided her past the dalan'usa – as they guided you;
and here she would have dwelt until the time came that she must pass-out of
herself. She would have passed in sleep, in peace, without pain... and when she
awakened it would have been far from here... perhaps with no memory of it...
free. So it is that the Little People who love life send forth those who must
be sent."
She said it
tranquilly, with clear eyes, untroubled.
"And are
many sent forth so?"
"Not many,
since few may pass the dalan'usa - yet many try."
"Both men
and women, Evalie?"
"Can men
bear children?"
"What do you
mean by that?" I asked, roughly enough; there had been something in the
question that somehow touched me in the raw.
"Not
now," she answered. "Besides, men are few in Karak, as I told you. Of
children born, not one in twenty is a man child. Do not ask me why, for I do
not know."
She arose, stood
looking at us dreamily.
"Enough for
to-night. You shall sleep in my tent. On the morrow you shall have one of your
own, and the Little People will cut you a lair in the cliff next mine. And you
shall look on Karak, standing on broken Nansur - and you shall see Tibur the
Laugher, since he always comes to Nansur's other side when I am there. You
shall see it all... on the morrow... or the morrow after... or on another
morrow. What does it matter, since every morrow shall be ours, together. Is it
not so?"
And again Jim
made no answer.
"It is so,
Evalie," I said.
She smiled at us,
sleepily. She turned from us and floated toward the darker shadow on the cliff
which was the door to her cave. She merged into the shadow, and was gone.
CHAPTER X - IF A MAN COULD USE
ALL HIS BRAIN
The drums of the
sentinel dwarfs beat on softly, talking to one another along the miles of
circling scarp. And suddenly I had a desperate longing for the Gobi. I don't
know why, but its barren and burning, wind-swept and sand-swept body was more
desirable than any woman's. It was like strong homesickness. I found it hard to
shake it off. I spoke at last in sheer desperation. "You've been acting
damned queer, Indian." "Tsi Tsa'lagi - I told you - I'm all
Cherokee." "Tsantawu - It is I, Degata, who speaks to you now."
I had dropped into the Cherokee; he answered:
"What is it
my brother desires to know?"
"What it was
the voices of the dead whispered that night we slept beneath the spruces? What
it was you knew to be truth by the three signs they gave you. I did not hear
the voices, brother - yet by the blood rite they are my ancestors as they are
yours; and I have the right to know their words."
He said: "Is
it not better to let the future unroll itself without giving heed to the thin
voices of the dead? Who can tell whether the voices of ghosts speak
truth?"
"Tsantawu
points his arrow in one direction while his eyes look the other. Once he called
me dog slinking behind the heels of the hunter. Since it is plain he still
thinks me that...”
"No, no,
Lief," he broke in, dropping the tribal tongue. "I only mean I don't
know whether it's truth. I know what Barr would call it – natural apprehensions
put subconsciously in terms of racial superstitions. The voices - we'll call
them that, anyway - said great danger lay north. The Spirit that was north
would destroy them for ever and for ever if I fell in its hands. They and I
would be 'as though we never had been.' There was some enormous difference
between ordinary death and this peculiar death that I couldn't understand. But
the voices did. I would know by three signs that they spoke truth, by Ataga'hi,
by Usunhi'yi and by the Yunwi Tsundi. I could meet the first two and still go
back. But if I went on to the third - it would be too late. They begged me not
to - this was peculiarly interesting, Leif – not to let them be -
dissolved."
"Dissolved!"
I exclaimed. "But - that's the same word I used. And it was hours
after!"
"Yes, that's
why I felt creepy when I heard you. You can't blame me for being a little
preoccupied when we came across the stony flat that was like Ataga'hi, and more
so when we struck the coincidence of the Shadowed-land, which is pretty much
the same as Usunhi'yi, the Darkening-land. It's why I said if we ran across the
third, the Yunwi Tsundi, I'd take your interpretation rather than Barr's. We
did strike it. And if you think all those things aren't a good reason for
acting damned queer, as you put it, well - what would you think a good
one?"
Jim in the golden
chains... Jim with the tentacle of that Dark Power creeping, creeping toward
him... my lips were dry and stiff...
"Why didn't
you tell me all that! I'd never have let you go on!"
"I know it.
But you'd have come back, wouldn't you, old-timer?"
I did not answer;
he laughed.
"How could I
be sure until I saw all the signs?"
"But they
didn't say you would be - dissolved," I clutched at the straw. "They
only said there was the danger."
"That's
all."
"And what
would I be doing? Jim - I'd kill you with my own hand before I'd let what I saw
happen in the Gobi happen to you."
"If you
could," he said, and I saw he was sorry he had said it.
"If I could?
What did they say about me - those damned ancestors?"
"Not a
damned thing," he answered, cheerfully. "I never said they did. I
simply reasoned that if we went on, and I was in danger, so would you be.
That's all."
"Jim - it
isn't all. What are you keeping back?"
He arose, and stood
over me.
"All right.
They said that even if the Spirit didn't get me, I'd never get out. Now you
have the whole works."
"Well,"
I said, a burden rolling off me, "that's not so bad. And, as for getting
out - that may be as may be. One thing's sure - if you stay, so do I."
He nodded,
absently. I went on to something else that had been puzzling me.
"The Yunwi
Tsundi, Jim, what were they? You never told me anything about them that I
remember. What's the legend?"
"Oh - the
Little People," he squatted beside me, chuckling, wide awake from his
abstraction. "They were in Cherokee-land when the Cherokees got there.
They were a pygmy race, like those in Africa and Australia to-day. Only they
weren't blacks. These small folk fit their description. Of course, the tribes
did some embroidering. They had them copper-coloured and only two feet high.
These are golden-skinned and average three feet. At that, they may have faded
some here and put on height. Otherwise they square with the accounts - long
hair, perfect shape, drums and all."
He went on to
tell of the Little People. They had lived in caves, mostly in the region now
Tennessee and Kentucky. They were earth-folk, worshippers of life; and as such
at times outrageously Rabelaisian. They were friendly toward the Cherokees, but
kept rigorously to themselves and seldom were seen. They frequently aided those
who had got lost in the mountains, especially children. If they helped anyone, and
took him into their caves, they warned him he mustn't tell where the caves were,
or he would die. And, ran the legends, if he told, he did die. If anyone ate
their food he had to be very careful when he returned to his tribe, and resume
his old diet slowly, or he would also die.
The Little People
were touchy. If anyone followed them in the woods, they cast a spell on him so
that for days he had no sense of location. They were expert wood and metal
workers, and if a hunter found in the forest a knife or arrow-head or any kind
of trinket, before he picked it up he had to say: "Little People, I want
to take this." If he didn't ask, he never killed any more game and another
misfortune came upon him. One which distressed his wife.
They were gay,
the Little People, and they spent half their time in dancing and drumming. They
had every kind of drum - drums that would make trees fall, drums that brought
sleep, drums that drove to madness, drums that talked and thunder drums. The
thunder drums sounded just like thunder, and when the Little People beat on
them soon there was a real thunderstorm, because they sounded so much like the
actuality that it woke up the thunderstorms, and one or more storms was sure to
come poking around to gossip with what it supposed a wandering member of the family...
I remembered the
roll of thunder that followed the chanting; I wondered whether that had been
the Little People's defiance to Khalk'ru...
"I've a
question or two for you, Leif."
"Go right
ahead, Indian."
"Just how
much do you remember of - Dwayanu?"
I didn't answer
at once; it was the question I had been dreading ever since I had cried out to
the Witch-woman on the white river's bank.
"If you're
thinking it over, all right. If you're thinking of a way to stall, all wrong.
I'm asking for a straight answer."
"Is it your
idea that I'm that ancient Uighur, re-born? If it is, maybe you have a theory
as to where I've been during the thousands of years between this time and
now."
"Oh, so the
same idea has been worrying you, has it? No, reincarnation isn't what I had in
mind. Although at that, we know so damned little I wouldn't rule it out. But
there may be a more reasonable explanation. That's why I ask - what do you
remember of Dwayanu?"
I determined to
make a clean breast of it.
"All right,
Jim," I said. "That same question has been riding my mind right
behind Khalk'ru for three years. And if I can't find the answer here, I'll go
back to the Gobi for it - if I can get out. When I was in that room of the
oasis waiting the old priest's call, I remembered perfectly well it had been
Dwayanu's. I knew the bed, and I knew the armour and the weapons. I stood
looking at one of the metal caps and I remembered that Dwayanu - or I - had got
a terrific clout with a mace when wearing it. I took it down, and there was a
dent in it precisely where I remembered it had been struck. I remembered the
swords, and recalled that Dwayanu - or I - had the habit of using a heavier one
in the left hand than in the right. Well, one of them was much heavier than the
other. Also, in a fight I use my left hand better than I do my right. These memories,
or whatever they were, came in flashes. For a moment I would be Dwayanu, plus
myself, looking with amused interest on old familiar
things - and the next moment I would be only myself and wondering,
with no amusement, what it all meant."
"Yes, what
else?"
"Well, I
wasn't entirely frank about the ritual matter," I said, miserably. "I
told you it was as though another person had taken charge of my mind and gone
on with it. That was true, in a way - but God help me, I knew all the time that
other person was - myself! It was like being two people and one at the same
time. It's hard to make clear... you know how you can be saying one thing and
thinking another. Suppose you could be saying one thing and thinking two things
at once. It was like that. One part of me was in revolt, horror-stricken, terrified.
The other part was none of those things; it knew it had power and was enjoying
exercising that power - and it had control of my will. But both were - I.
Unequivocally, unmistakably - I. Hell, man - if I'd really believed it was
somebody, something, besides myself, do you suppose I'd feel the remorse I do?
No, it's because I knew it was I – the same part of me that knew the helm and
the swords, that I've gone hag-ridden ever since."
"Anything
else?"
"Yes.
Dreams."
He leaned over,
and spoke sharply.
"What
dreams?"
"Dreams of
battles - dreams of feasts... a dream of war against yellow men, and of a
battlefield beside a river and of arrows flying overhead in clouds... of hand-to-hand fights in which I wield a
weapon like a huge hammer against big yellow-haired men I know are like
myself... dreams of towered cities through which I pass and where white, blue-eyed
women toss garlands down for my horse to trample... When I wake the dreams are
vague, soon lost. But always I know that while I dreamed them, they were clear,
sharp-cut - real as life...”
"Is that how
you knew the Witch-woman was Witch-woman - through those dreams?"
"If so, I
don't remember. I only knew that suddenly I recognized her for what she was -
or that other self did."
He sat for a
while in silence.
"Leif,"
he asked, "in those dreams do you ever take any part in the service of
Khalk'ru? Have anything at all to do with his worship?"
"I'm sure I
don't. I'd remember that, by God! I don't even dream of the temple in the
Gobi!"
He nodded, as
though I had confirmed some thought in his own mind; then was quiet for so long
that I became jumpy.
"Well, Old
Medicine Man of the Tsalagi', what's the diagnosis? Reincarnation, demonic
possession, or just crazy?"
"Leif, you
never had any of those dreams before the Gobi?"
"I did
not."
"Well - I've
been trying to think as Barr would, and squaring it with my own grey matter.
Here's the result. I think that everything you've told me is the doing of your
old priest. He had you under his control when you saw yourself riding to the
Temple of Khalk'ru - and wouldn't go in. You don't know what else he might have
suggested at that time, and have commanded you to forget consciously when you
came to yourself. That's a simple matter of hypnotism. But he had another
chance at you. When you were asleep that night how do you know he didn't come
in and do some more suggesting? Obviously, he wanted to believe you were
Dwayanu. He wanted you to 'remember' - but having had one lesson, he didn't
want you to remember what went on with Khalk'ru. That would explain why you dreamed
about the pomp and glory and the pleasant things, but not the unpleasant. He
was a wise old gentleman - you say that yourself. He knew enough of your
psychology to foresee you would balk at a stage of the ritual. So you did - but
he had tied you well up. Instantly the post-hypnotic command to the
subconscious operated. You couldn't help going on. Although your conscious self
was wide-awake, fully aware, it had no control over your will. I think that's
what Barr would say. And I'd agree with him. Hell, there are drugs that do all
that to you. You don't have to go into migrations of the soul, or demons, or
any medieval matter to account for it."
"Yes,"
I said, hopefully but doubtfully. "And how about the witch-woman?"
"Somebody
like her in your dreams, but forgotten. I think the explanation is what I've
said. If it is, Leif, it worries me."
"I don't
follow you there," I said.
"No? Well,
think this over. If all these things that puzzle you come from suggestions the
old priest made - what else did he suggest? Clearly, he knew something of this
place. Suppose he foresaw the possibility of your finding it. What would he
want you to do when you did find it? Whatever it was, you can bet your chances
of getting out that he planted it deep in your subconscious. All right - that
being a reasonable deduction, what is it you will do when you come in closer contact
with those red-headed ladies we saw, and with the happy few gentlemen who share
their Paradise? I haven't the slightest idea – nor have you. And if that isn't
something to worry about, tell me what is. Come on - let's go to bed."
We went into the
tent. We had been in it before with Evalie. It had been empty then except for a
pile of soft pelts and silken stuffs at one side. Now there were two such
piles. We shed our clothes in the pale green darkness and turned in. I looked
at my watch.
"Ten
o'clock," I said. "How many months since morning?"
"At least
six. If you keep me awake I'll murder you. I'm tired."
So was I; but I
lay long, thinking. I was not so convinced by Jim's argument, plausible as it
was. Not that I believed I had been lying dormant in some extra-spatial limbo
for centuries. Nor that I had ever been this ancient Dwayanu. There was a third
explanation, although I didn't like it a bit better than that of reincarnation;
and it had just as many unpleasant possibilities as that of Jim's.
Not long ago an eminent
American physician and psychologist had said he had discovered that the average
man used only about one-tenth of his brain; and scientists generally agreed he
was right. The ablest thinkers, all-round geniuses, such as Leonardo da Vinci
and Michelangelo were, might use a tenth more. Any man who could use all his
brain could rule the world - but probably wouldn't want to. In the human skull
was a world only one-fifth explored at the most.
What was in the
terra incognita of the brain - the unexplored eight-tenths?
Well, for one
thing there might be a storehouse of ancestral memories, memories reaching back
to those of the hairy, ape-like ancestors who preceded man, reaching beyond
them even to those of the flippered creatures who crawled out of the ancient
seas to begin their march to men - and further back to their ancestors who had
battled and bred in the steaming oceans when the continents were being born.
Millions upon
millions of years of memories! What a reservoir of knowledge if man's consciousness
could but tap it!
There was nothing
more unbelievable in this than that the physical memory of the race could be
contained in the two single cells which start the cycle of birth. In them are
all the complexities of the human body - brain and nerves, muscles, bone and
blood. In them, too, are those traits we call hereditary - family resemblances,
resemblances not only of face and body but of thought, habits, emotions,
reactions to environment: grandfather's nose, great-grandmother's eyes, great-great-grandfather's
irascibility, moodiness or what not. If all this can be carried in those seven
and forty, and eight and forty, microscopic rods within the birth cells which
biologists call the chromosomes, tiny mysterious gods of birth who determine from
the beginning what blend of ancestors a boy or girl shall be, why could they
not carry, too, the accumulated experiences, the memories of those ancestors?
Somewhere in the
human brain might be a section of records, each neatly graven with lines of memories,
waiting only for the needle of consciousness to run over them to make them
articulate.
Maybe the
consciousness did now and then touch and read them. Maybe there were a few
people who by some freak had a limited power of tapping their contents.
If that were
true, it would explain many mysteries. Jim's ghostly voices, for example. My
own uncanny ability of picking up languages.
Suppose that I
had come straight down from this Dwayanu. And that in this unknown world of my
brain, my consciousness, that which now was I, could and did reach in and touch
those memories that had been Dwayanu. Or that those memories stirred and
reached my consciousness? When that happened - Dwayanu would awaken and live.
And I would be both Dwayanu and Leif Langdon!
Might it not be
that the old priest had known something of this? By words and rites and by
suggestion, even as Jim had said, had reached into that terra incognita and
wakened these memories that were - Dwayanu?
They were strong
- those memories. They had not been wholly asleep; else I would not have
learned so quickly the Uighur... nor experienced those strange, reluctant
flashes of recognition before ever I met the old priest...
Yes, Dwayanu was
strong. And in some way I knew he was ruthless. I was afraid of Dwayanu - of
those memories that once had been Dwayanu. I had no power to arouse them, and I
had no power to control them. Twice they had seized my will, had pushed me
aside.
What if they grew
stronger?
What if they
became - all of me?
No comments:
Post a Comment