Adventure stories; Fantasy fiction, English; Quatermain, Allan (Fictitious character) -- Fiction
“Thus saith the Child: ‘Lift no hand against the three who remain, and
what they shall ask, that give, for thus alone shall some of you be
saved from Jana and those who serve him, even though the Guardian and
the Child be taken away and the Child itself returned to its own
place.’ These are the words of the Oracle uttered at the Feast of the
First-fruits, the words that cannot be changed and mayhap its last.”
Harût ceased, and there was silence while this portentous message sank
into the minds of his audience. At length they seemed to understand its
ominous nature and from them all there arose a universal, simultaneous
groan. As it died away the two attendants dressed as goddesses assisted
the personification of the Lady Isis to rise from her seat and, opening
the robes upon her breast, pointed to something beneath her throat,
doubtless that birthmark shaped like the new moon which made her so
sacred in their eyes since she who bore it and she alone could fill her
holy office.
All the audience and with them the priests and priestesses bowed before
her. She lifted the symbol of the Child, holding it high above her
head, whereon once more they bowed with the deepest veneration. Then
still holding the effigy aloft, she turned and with her two attendants
passed into the sanctuary and doubtless thence by a covered way into
the house beyond. At any rate we saw her no more.
As soon as she was gone the congregation, if I may call it so, leaving
their seats, swarmed down into the outer court of the temple through
its eastern gate, which was now opened. Here the priests proceeded to
distribute among them the offerings taken from the altar, giving a
grain of corn to each of the men to eat and a flower to each of the
women, which flower she kissed and hid in the bosom of her robe.
Evidently it was a kind of sacrament.
Ragnall lifted himself a little upon his hands and knees, and I saw
that his eyes glowed and his face was very pale.
“What are you going to do?” I asked.
“Demand that those people give me back my wife, whom they have stolen.
Don’t try to stop me, Quatermain, I mean what I say.”
“But, but,” I stammered, “they never will and we are but three unarmed
men.”
Hans lifted up his little yellow face between us.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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