The Induna's Wife. Mitford Bertram
valiant, the fearless. Dost thou not tremble – thou who art even now within the portal of the Great Unknown? Did ever peril of spear, or of the wrath of kings, make thy face cold as it now is? Ha, ha!”
True indeed were the words, for the position was fearful; but then so was that which had been the means of driving me into it. But I answered:
“I have seen strange and mysterious and terrifying things before, my father, else would I fear greatly now. Yet let us talk face to face.”
For a moment there was no reply, then with startling suddenness a light flashed forth. On the floor just in front of me burned a small fore – throwing a ball of green misty light upon the tomb-like blackness. Within this I could make out the figure of a man – a very old man.
A man, did I say? Whau! It was more like that of a monkey, or a great crouching spider. The limbs were thin as the shaft of a spear – too withered and dried even to show the wrinkles of age; the face, too, was like a dry piece of skin spread over the skull; and on the head a wisp or two of white hair. If it was a man, in truth he must have lived nearly as long as the world itself. His hands, which were like the claws of a bird, were spread over the fire, which burned not upon the floor, but in a large clay bowl. Into this he seemed to be sprinkling some kind of powder which caused the green flame to leap and hiss.
But now another sound stopped my ears; an awesome and terrible sound – a sound full of fear and agony indescribable – for it was again the death-yell, such as I had heard in the darkness of the night when the slave, Suru, looked upon the Red Terror and parted with life. And now it was not night, but broad, clear, golden day – outside the cavern at least – and the other slave had parted with life by the same dread means; and I – while this thing of horror was abroad – this monster I had come to slay – here was I imprisoned within the heart of the earth – held there at the will of a being who seemed less a man than the ghost of one who had died while the world was yet young. I leaped to my feet.
“Ha, ha, ha! Sit again, induna of the King, who knows not fear,” cackled the shrivelled old monkey before me. “Ha, ha, ha! But now I think thou art afraid.”
“Afraid or not, thou evil scorpion – thou creeping wizard – if I stand not in the light of day before I strike the ground with my foot three times, this spear shall see if there be any blood to run from thy dried-up old heart.” And, raising the blade aloft, I struck the ground once with my foot.
“Ha, ha, ha!” cackled the wizard again, still scattering his magic powder into the fire. “Look again, Untúswa; look again.”
I did look again, I could not do otherwise, and then I stood as one turned into stone – with the spear still uplifted – unable to move hand or foot, as I glared in front of me. For the whole vault was filled with a vivid green flash, and in it the wizard seemed to dissolve.
His shrivelled limbs seemed to turn into black, horrible snakes, which glided away hissing into the darkness beyond; then the light sank somewhat, and before me there started up faces dim and shadowy, and their aspect turned my heart into water indeed, for I was gazing upon the faces of those I knew had long been dead.
Dim and shadowy as they were, I knew them all, knew them at first sight. There was Hlatusa, who had been sent to “feed the alligators” by reason of this very magic I was here to destroy. There was Tyuyumane, who had conspired with the Amabuna to overthrow our nation; and Notalwa, the chief of our izanusi, who had aided him, both faces wreathed with hate and torture as I had last beheld them, writhing on the stake of impalement. There were many others who had died for the conspiracy of Ncwelo’s Pool. There was the face of my brother, Sekweni – he who had been slain for sleeping at his post – and that of Gungana, the induna whom I myself slew, and to whose command I had succeeded. All these were glowering upon me with a very whirlwind of hate and vengeance, and I —whau! – I was as a man who had died ten deaths. Then I saw the face of Tauane, the chief of the People of the Blue Cattle, and – Ha! what was that? The face of Lalusini, beautiful, but sad and agonised? Yet no. But as a flash I had seen it, and lo! it became that of Nangeza, my erstwhile inkosikazi, even as when she had failed in her attempt upon the life of the song. And then indeed did I know what hate and vengeance could look like. For long it seemed I stood there face to face with that terrible countenance – with it alone – and my lungs now seemed to fill with choking fiery air. I beheld a vast array defiling before me – of warriors I had met in battle, of all races, but chiefly those of our parent nation. On, ever, they passed, silent grim spectres, with broad spear and tufted shield, even as in life. Others followed densely in rank, company upon company. Hau! Once more the battle! I heard the clash of shields, the shiver of assegai hafts, the flash and flame as of fire weapons. I saw the red blood spout and flow; I heard the roaring of an army of warriors in the full career of their victorious charge; my ears were dulled by the screams of the vanquished, for mercy, for pity; the wild hiss and whistle of the conquerors as they stabbed and stabbed; and lo! blood swirled around my feet in rivers, and still the screaming and wailing of those beneath the spear went on. Then I could no longer breathe. The earth itself seemed to be heaping on high to fall on me and crush me to dust. I sank down, as it seemed, in death.
Chapter Six.
The Ghost-Bull
I was not dead, Nkose; or, indeed, how should I be here telling you my story? Or, if I were – well, at any rate, the magic which had been powerful enough to draw me through the abode of those who had become ghosts was powerful enough to bring me back to life and to the world again – and yet I know not. It is a terrible thing to look upon the faces of those who have long been dead; and how shall a man – being a man – do this unless he join their number? Such faces, however, had I looked upon, for, as I opened my eyes once more to the light of the sun, no dim recollection of one who has slept and dreamed was mine. No; the mysterious cave, the magic fire, the fearsome sights I had beheld – all was real – as real as the trees and rocks upon which I now looked – as real as the sky above and the sun shining from it.
Yes; I was in the outer air once more. I rose and stood up. My limbs were firm and strong as before, my hand still grasped the broad spear – the white shield lay at my feet. Before me was the smooth rock wall, there the exact spot where it had opened to receive me. But there it might remain, closed for ever, for all I cared. I had no wish to look further into its dark and evil mysteries. But now, again, the voice came back to my ears, faint and far away this time, but without the mocking mirth which had lured me before to what might have been my doom.
“Ho, Untúswa!” it cried; “wouldst thou see more of the unseen? Wouldst thou look further into the future?”
“I think not, my father,” I answered. “To those who deal in magic be the ways of magic, to warriors the ways of war – and I am a warrior.”
“And thine inkosikazi, Untúswa, what of her?”
“Help me to slay the ghost-bull who deals forth the Red Death, my father!” I pleaded eagerly.
There was no answer to this for long. Then, weary of waiting, I was about to turn away, when once more the voice spake from within the rock – faint, as before.
“Great is the House of Matyobane; great is the House of Senzangakona; Umzilikazi is ruler of the world to-day – but Dingane is greater. Yet to-morrow, where now are the many nations they have stamped flat there shall they be. Dust – all dust! Gasitye sees it.”
“Ha! And shall I see it too, my father?”
“Thou shalt see it, Untúswa. Thou, too, shalt see it.”
Now, when I heard the name of Gasitye, I knew it as the name of a great seer and prophet who dwelt alone among the mountains, and who was held in wide repute among all tribes and peoples, near and far. His own tribe nobody knew exactly, but it was supposed that his age was three times that of the oldest man known. Even Umzilikazi himself had more than once sent secretly to consult him, with gifts; for the rest, nobody cared to interfere with him, for even the most powerful of kings does not desire the enmity of a great and dreaded sorcerer, whose magic, moreover, is real, and not as that of the tribal izanusi– a cheat to encompass the death of men. And now I had encountered this world-famed