The Lost ContinentHyne, Charles John Cutcliffe Wright
Science
The Lost Continent
Hyne, Charles John Cutcliffe Wright
Atlantis (Legendary place) -- Fiction; Fantasy fiction; Lost continents -- Fiction; Science fiction
It was a useless form, this last, seeing that by calculation they knew
exactly how the stone must rest; but the guilds have their forms
and customs, and on these occasions of high ceremonial, they are
punctiliously carried out, because these middle-class people wish always
to appear mysterious and impressive to the poor vulgar folk who are
their inferiors. But perhaps I am hard there on them. A man who is
needlessly taken round to plumb and duly level the tomb where his love
lies buried living, may perhaps be excused by the assessors on high a
little spirit of bitterness.
I had gone up the steps to do my hateful work a man full of grief,
though outwardly unmoved. As I came down again I had a feeling of
incompleteness; it seemed as though half my inwards had been left behind
with Nais in the hollow of the stone, and their place was taken by a
void which ached wearily; but still I carried a passive face, and memory
that before all these private matters stood the command of the High
Council, which sat before the Ark of the Mysteries.
So I went and stood before Phorenice, and said the words which the
ancient forms prescribed concerning the carrying out of her wish.
“Then, now,” she said, “I will give myself to you as wife. We are not as
others, you and I, Deucalion. There is a law and a form set down for
the marrying of these other people, but that would be useless for our
purposes. We will have neither priest nor scribe to join us and set down
the union. I am the law here in Atlantis, and you soon will be part of
me. We will not be demeaned by profaner hands. We will make the ceremony
for ourselves, and for witnesses, there are sufficient in waiting.
Afterwards, the record shall be cut deep in the granite throne you have
built for me, and the lettering filled in with gold, so that it shall
endure and remain bright for always.”
“The Empress can do no wrong,” I said formally, and took the hand she
offered me, and helped her to rise. We walked out from the scarlet
awning into the glare of the sunshine, she leaning on me, flushing, and
so radiantly lovely that the people began to hail her with rapturous
shouts of “A Goddess; our Goddess Phorenice.” But for me they had no
welcoming word. I think the set grimness of my face both scared and
repelled them.
We went up the steps which led to the throne, the people still shouting,
and I sat her in the royal seat beneath the snake’s outstretched head,
and she drew me down to sit beside her.
She raised her jewelled hand, and a silence fell on that great throng,
as though the breath had been suddenly cut short for all of them.
Then Phorenice made proclamation:
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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