Yermah the Dorado: The story of a lost raceWait, Frona Eunice
Science
Yermah the Dorado: The story of a lost race
Wait, Frona Eunice
Fantasy fiction; Geographical myths -- Fiction
After a time, Akaza went into the cave. The fire had warmed the
interior, and the lamps shed a softened glow, which was comforting to
the weary old man.
He was hungry, but the food seemed almost to choke him. It had pleased
his fancy to have Yermah break bread and eat salt with him in this
hidden retreat. In his weakness, he was sorely disappointed, and it cost
him an effort to refrain from whimpering childishly.
Akaza awoke with a sudden start from a troubled sleep. It was with
difficulty that he made his way to the mouth of the cavern and saw that
the sun was hopelessly obscured by what appeared to be a heavy fog. He
went back and threw himself down on the cushions and rugs where he had
been sleeping, and there he would wait patiently until the time of
sunset. If it were possible to get a glimpse of the Lord of Day at that
hour, he would go back to the Temple of Neptune, where he lived.
Later, when Akaza was removing the temporary shutters at the entrance to
the cave, a gust of wind blew the raindrops into his face. He knew at a
glance that it would be a stormy night. The wind was rising, and the
lowering, black clouds gave promise of a heavy downpour.
The sun crosses the earth’s magnetic meridian twice every twenty-four
hours—once at sunrise, and again at sunset.
Akaza made three obeisances toward the west and stood motionless,
drinking in the sweet influences of the sunset hour. His lips moved in
silent prayer. For several minutes he communed with the subjective
world, just coming into its waking activity. The physical world was
falling asleep, and with it went the agitating thoughts of the day.
He was renewing his spiritual vigor, listening to the Voice of the
Silence, holding converse with his own soul. As he took counsel of his
higher self, the bells of the Observatory tower in Tlamco sounded like a
silvery-tinkling sea-shell, faint but distinct to his clairaudient ear.
“Peace! peace! peace!” they seemed to say, while the lines of care
slowly relaxed, and the face of the devotee was as serene and calm as a
May morning.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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