"Yet the flood–gate cannot roll back when it is not shut, nor can the waters flow in during the dry season, when they are not on a level with the walls," answered Maya.
"They cannot, Lady, and yet other things may happen. Why was the Heart set thus? Was it not that in the utmost need of its worshippers they might choose death rather than defeat and slavery? And was this choice given to them in the wet months only? Be sure that if at this moment any despairing or impious hand tore yonder symbol from its altar, either the waters would rush up through the bed of the city, or subterranean fires would break loose and burn it. Still, though there is something, I think that we have little to fear, seeing that the writing says that, in order to bring about so terrible a doom, the symbol must be torn from its altar with might. And now to our task. Stranger, give to the Lady Maya your half of the ancient talisman, that she may set it, together with the half she bears, in the place prepared in the symbol."
Now with a sigh, seeing that it was too late to draw back, I undid the emerald from my neck and gave it to Maya, who laid it side by side with its counterpart upon the palm of her trembling hand, and stepped with it to the altar. Here she stood for a moment, then whispered in a faint voice:
"Terror has taken hold of me, and I fear to do this thing."
"Yet it must be done, and not by me," said Mattai, "or we shall have come on a fool's errand, and go back, some of us, to a fool's death," and he looked towards me.
"I will not do it," I said, answering his look, "not because I fear your gods, but my own conscience I do fear."
"Then I will," said the señor boldly, "for I fear neither. Give me that trinket, Maya."
She obeyed, and presently he had caused the two halves of the talisman to fall into their ancient and appointed bed in the symbol. In the great silence I remember the sound they made, as they tinkled against the stone, struck my ear so sharply that I started.
For some seconds, perhaps twenty, we stood still, watching the altar with eager eyes, but the symbol never stirred. Then I said:
"It seems, Mattai, that you must hide your lying writing elsewhere, since yonder heart will not open, or, if it will, we have not found the key."
"Wait a little," broke in the señor, "perhaps the springs are rusted." And before any of us could interfere to stop him, he placed his thumb upon the halves of the emerald and pressed so hard that the symbol trembled on its marble stand.
"Beware!" cried Mattai, and as the echoes of his voice died away all of us started in astonishment, for lo! the heart was opening like a flower.
Slowly it opened, till the severed talisman fell from it, and its two halves lay back on the marble of the altar, revealing something hidden in its centre that shone like an ember in the lamplight. We crept forward and looked, then stood silent and half afraid, for in the hollow of the heart, laid upon a square plate of gold which was covered with picture–writing, glared a red jewel shaped like a human eye, that seemed to answer stare with stare.
"If we stand like this we shall grow frightened," said the señor roughly, glancing round him as he spoke, "there is nothing to fear in a red stone cut like an eye."
"If you think so, White Man," answered Mattai in a voice that shook a little, strive as he would to command it, "lift up the holy thing and give me the writing that is beneath it. Stay, first take this, set it in the symbol, replacing the eye upon it," and he handed him the forged tablet.
The señor obeyed, nor did any wonder come to pass when he lifted that dreadful–looking jewel, and changed the true for the false.
"Read it," said Maya, as the tablet was passed to Mattai, "you have knowledge of the ancient writings."
"Perhaps it were best left unread," he said, doubtfully.
"Nay," she answered, "let us know the worst. Read it, I bid you."
Then he read these strange words in a slow and solemn voice:
"The Eye that has slept and is awakened sees the heart and purpose of the wicked. I say that in the hour of the desolation of my city not all the waters of the Holy Lake shall wash away their sin."
Now the faces of us who heard turned grey in the lamplight, for though the gods of this people were false, we felt that the voice of a true prophet spoke to us from that accusing tablet, and that we had called down upon our heads a vengeance which we could not measure.
"Did I not tell you that it were wiser to leave the writing unread," gasped Mattai, letting the tablet fall from his hand as though it were a snake.
The clatter of it as it struck the marble floor seemed to wake us from our evil dream, for the señor turned on him, and said fiercely:
"What does it matter what the thing says, rogue, seeing that you forged it as you have forged the other?"
"Ah! would that I had," answered Mattai; "but when doom overtakes you and all of us, then shall you learn whether I forged that ancient writing;" and he lifted it from the floor, and, hiding it in his robe, added, "Close the heart, White Man, and give back the severed jewel to those who wear it."
The señor obeyed, replacing the silken cloth over the symbol, so that the altar seemed to be as it had been.
"Now let us be going," said Mattai, "and rejoice, that if yonder eye has seen our wickedness, at least it is hidden from the sight of man. Doubtless the vengeance of the gods is sure, but that of men is swift."
As he spoke we turned to leave the Sanctuary, and of a sudden Maya screamed, and would have fallen had not the señor caught her. Well might she scream, for there in the narrow niche of the secret door by which we had entered, framed in it as a corpse is framed in its coffin, stood a white figure which at first I took to be that of some avenging ghost, so ghostlike were the wrappings, the snowy beard and hair, and the thin, fierce face. Another instant, and I saw that indeed it was a ghost, the ghost of Zibalbay, or rather his body come back from the boundaries of death to spy upon our sacrilege before it crossed them forever.
Yes, it was Zibalbay, for while he had seemed to be unconscious upon the bed in the chamber, his senses were awake, and oh! what must he have suffered when he, the high priest of the Nameless god, heard us plan our fraud upon his Sanctuary. Then, after we had left him, fury and despair unfettered the limbs that had been bound so fast and gave him strength to follow us, though they could not unlock his frozen tongue. He had followed; painfully he had crept down the stairs, along the passages, and through the open door, for the path was known to him even in the dark, till at length he came to the secret entrance of the Sanctuary. Here once more his force deserted him; here, unable to speak or stir, he had leaned against the wall and seen and heard all that was done and said.
Oh! never shall I forget the rage of his quivering face, or the agony and horror of his tormented eyes as they met our own. No course could have been so awful as that look which he let fall upon his daughter, and no outraged deity or demon could have seemed more terrible to the human sight than was the tall figure of this dying man, striving even in death to protect the honour of his gods, which we had violated in their most holy of holies. Never have I seen such a dreadful sight, and I pray that never again may I do so either in this world or the next.
The dying Zibalbay saw our fear, and with a last effort he staggered forward towards his daughter, his clenched hands held above his head. For a moment he stood before her as she lay upon her lover's arm staring up at him like a bird at a snake, while he swayed to and fro above her like the snake about to strike. Then, of a sudden, foam mingled with blood burst from his lips, and he sank down at her feet dead, dying in a silence that was more awful than any sound.