A Strange Manuscript Found in a Copper CylinderDe Mille, James
Philosophy
A Strange Manuscript Found in a Copper Cylinder
De Mille, James
Science fiction
"Certainly. Why should we be so cruel to the dear child as to deprive
her of so great a boon?"
At this I groaned aloud and turned away in despair.
Many joms now passed away. I grew more and more melancholy and
desperate. I thought sometimes of fighting my way out. My fire-arms
were now my chief consolation; for I had fully made up my mind not to
die quietly like a slaughtered calf, but to strike a blow for life,
and meet my death amid slain enemies. In this prospect I found some
satisfaction, and death was robbed of some of its terrors.
CHAPTER XXX
THE DAY OF SACRIFICE
At last the time came.
It was the end of the dark season. Then, as the sun rises for its
permanent course around the heavens, when the long day of six months
begins, all in the land of the Kosekin is sorrow, and the last of the
loved darkness is mourned over amid the most solemn ceremonies, and
celebrated with the most imposing sacrifices. Then the most honored
in all the land are publicly presented with the blessing of death,
and allowed to depart this hated life, and go to the realms of that
eternal darkness which they love so well. It is the greatest of
sacrifices, and is followed by the greatest of feasts. Thus the busy
season--the loved season of darkness--ends, and the long, hateful
season of light begins, when the Kosekin lurk in caverns, and live in
this way in the presence of what may be called artificial darkness.
It was for us--for me and for Almah--the day of doom. Since the
ceremony of separation I had not seen her; but my heart had been
always with her. I did not even know whether she was alive or not, but
believed that she must be; for I thought that if she had died I should
have heard of it, as the Kosekin would have rejoiced greatly over such
an event. For every death is to them an occasion of joy, and the death
of one so distinguished and so beloved as Almah would have given rise
to nothing less than a national festival.
Of time I had but a poor reckoning; but, from the way in which the
paupers kept account of their joms, I judged that about three months
had elapsed since the ceremony of separation.
The paupers were now all joyous with a hideous joy. The Chief Pauper
was more abhorrent than ever. He had the blood-thirst strong upon
him. He was on that jom to perform his horrible office of Sar
Tabakin, and as he accosted me he smiled the smile of a demon, and
congratulated me on my coming escape from life. To this I had no word
of answer to make; but my hands held my rifle and pistol, and these I
clutched with a firmer grasp as my last hour approached.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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