Robert Chambers - Out of the Dark - Tales of Terror by Robert W. Chambers

In spite of myself the continued apparition of the Chinaman made me nervous. If he troubled me again I had fully decided to get the drop on him and find out what he was doing in the Cardinal Woods. If he could give no satisfactory account of himself I would march him in to Barris as a gold-making suspect – I would march him in anyway, I thought, and rid the forest of his ugly face. I wondered what it was that David had heard in the lake. It must have been a big fish, a salmon, I thought; probably David’s and Howlett’s nerves were overwrought after their Celestial chase.

A whine from the dog broke the thread of my meditation and I raised my head. Then I stopped short in my tracks.

The lost glade lay straight before me.

Already the dog had bounded into it, across the velvet turf to the carved stone where a slim figure sat. I saw my dog lay his silky head lovingly against her silken kirtle; I saw her face bend above him, and I caught my breath and slowly entered the sunlit glade.

Half timidly she held out one white hand.

‘Now that you have come,’ she said, ‘I can show you more of my work. I told you that I could do other things besides these dragonflies and moths carved here in stone. Why do you stare at me so? Are you ill?’

‘Ysonde,’ I stammered.

‘Yes,’ she said, with a faint color under her eyes.

‘I – I never expected to see you again,’ I blurted out, ‘—you – I – I – thought I had dreamed—’

‘Dreamed, of me? Perhaps you did, is that strange?’

‘Strange? N—no – but – where did you go when – when we were leaning over the fountain together? I saw your face – your face reflected beside mine and then – then suddenly I saw the blue sky and only a star twinkling.’

‘It was because you fell asleep,’ she said, ‘was it not?’

‘I – asleep?’

‘You slept – I thought you were very tired and I went back—’

‘Back? – where?’

‘Back to my home where I carve my beautiful images; see, here is one I brought to show you today.’

I took the sculptured creature that she held toward me, a massive golden lizard with frail claw-spread wings of gold so thin that the sunlight burned through and fell on the ground in flaming gilded patches.

‘Good Heavens!’ I exclaimed, ‘this is astounding! Where did you learn to do such work? Ysonde, such a thing is beyond price!’

‘Oh, I hope so,’ she said earnestly, ‘I can’t bear to sell my work, but my step-father takes it and sends it away. This is the second thing I have done and yesterday he said I must give it to him. I suppose he is poor.’

‘I don’t see how he can be poor if he gives you gold to model in,’ I said, astonished.

‘Gold!’ she exclaimed, ‘gold! He has a room full of gold! He makes it.’

I sat down on the turf at her feet completely unnerved.

‘Why do you look at me so?’ she asked, a little troubled.

‘Where does your step-father live?’ I said at last.

‘Here.’

‘Here!’

‘In the woods near the lake. You could never find our house.’

‘A house!’

‘Of course. Did you think I lived in a tree? How silly. I live with my step-father in a beautiful house – a small house, but very beautiful. He makes his gold there but the men who carry it away never come to the house, for they don’t know where it is and if they did they could not get in. My step-father carries the gold in lumps to a canvas satchel. When the satchel is full he takes it out into the woods where the men live and I don’t know what they do with it. I wish he could sell the gold and become rich for then I could go back to Yian where all the gardens are sweet and the river flows under the thousand bridges.’

‘Where is this city?’ I asked faintly.

‘Yian? I don’t know. It is sweet with perfume and the sound of silver bells all day long. Yesterday I carried a blossom of dried lotus buds from Yian, in my breast, and all the woods were fragrant. Did you smell it?’

‘Yes.’

‘I wondered last night whether you did. How beautiful your dog is; I love him. Yesterday I thought most about your dog but last night—’

‘Last night,’ I repeated below my breath.

‘I thought of you. Why do you wear the dragon claw?’

I raised my hand impulsively to my forehead, covering the scar.

‘What do you know of the dragon claw?’ I muttered.

‘It is the symbol of Ye-Laou, and Ye-Laou rules the Kuen-Yuin, my step-father says. My step-father tells me everything that I know. We lived in Yian until I was sixteen years old. I am eighteen now; that is two years we have lived in the forest. Look! – see those scarlet birds! What are they? There are birds of the same color in Yian.’

‘Where is Yian, Ysonde?’ I asked with deadly calmness.

‘Yian? I don’t know.’

‘But you have lived there?’

‘Yes, a very long time.’

‘Is it across the ocean, Ysonde?’

‘It is across seven oceans and the great river which is longer than from the earth to the moon.’

‘Who told you that?’

‘Who? My step-father; he tells me everything.’

‘Will you tell me his name, Ysonde?’

‘I don’t know it, he is my step-father, that is all.’

‘And what is your name?’

‘You know it, Ysonde.’

‘Yes, but what other name?’

‘That is all, Ysonde. Have you two names? Why do you look at me so impatiently?’

‘Does your step-father make gold? Have you seen him make it?’

‘Oh yes. He made it also in Yian and I loved to watch the sparks at night whirling like golden bees. Yian is lovely – if it is all like our garden and the gardens around. I can see the thousand bridges from my garden and the white mountain beyond—’

‘And the people – tell me of the people, Ysonde!’ I urged gently.

‘The people of Yian? I could see them in swarms like ants – oh! many, many millions crossing and recrossing the thousand bridges.’

‘But how did they look? Did they dress as I do?’

‘I don’t know. They were very far away, moving specks on the thousand bridges. For sixteen years I saw them every day from my garden but I never went out of my garden into the streets of Yian, for my step-father forbade me.’

‘You never saw a living creature nearby in Yian?’ I asked in despair.

‘My birds, oh such tall, wise-looking birds, all over gray and rose color.’

She leaned over the gleaming water and drew her polished hand across the surface.

‘Why do you ask me these questions,’ she murmured; ‘are you displeased?’

‘Tell me about your step-father,’ I insisted. ‘Does he look as I do? Does he dress, does he speak as I do? Is he American?’

‘American? I don’t know. He does not dress as you do and he does not look as you do. He is old, very, very old. He speaks sometimes as you do, sometimes as they do in Yian. I speak also in both manners.’

‘Then speak as they do in Yian,’ I urged impatiently, ‘speak as – why, Ysonde! why are you crying? Have I hurt you? – I did not intend – I did not dream of your caring! There Ysonde, forgive me – see, I beg you on my knees here at your feet.’

I stopped, my eyes fastened on a small golden ball which hung from her waist by a golden chain. I saw it trembling against her thigh, I saw it change color, now crimson, now purple, now flaming scarlet. It was the symbol of the Kuen-Yuin.

She bent over me and laid her fingers gently on my arm.

‘Why do you ask me such things?’ she said, while the tears glistened on her lashes. ‘It hurts me here—’ she pressed her hand to her breast – ‘it pains – I don’t know why. Ah, now your eyes are hard and cold again; you are looking at the golden globe which hangs from my waist. Do you wish to know also what that is?’