Dennis Wheatley - The Devil Rides Out

He studied her curiously for a moment, still convinced that she could not be fully aware of the abominations that would take place at the Sabbat. Then he broke out: ‘How long is it since you became involved in this sort of thing?’

‘I was psychic even as a child,’ she told him slowly. ‘My mother encouraged me to use my gifts. Then when she died I joined a society in Budapest. I loved her. I wanted to keep in touch with her still.’

‘What proof have you got it was her?’ he demanded with a sudden renewal of scepticism as he recalled the many newspaper exposures of spiritualistic seances.

‘I had very little then, but since, I have been convinced of it beyond all doubt.’

‘And is she—your own mother, still—yes, your guide—I suppose you’d call it?’

Tanith shook her head. ‘No, she has gone on, and it was not for me to seek to detain her, but others have followed, and every day my knowledge of the worlds which lie beyond this grows greater.’

‘But it’s extraordinary that a young girl like you should devote yourself to this sort of thing. You ought to be dancing, dining, playing golf, going places—you’re so lovely you could take your pick among the men.’

She shrugged a little disdainfully. ‘Such a life is dull— ordinary—after a year I tired of it, and few women can climb mountains or shoot big game, but the conquest of the unknown offers the greatest adventure of all.’

Again her voice altered suddenly, and the inscrutable eyes which gave her a strange, serious beauty, so fitting for a lady of the Italian Renaissance, gleamed as before.

‘Religions and moralities are man-made, fleeing and local; a scandalous lapse from virtue in London may be a matter for the highest praise in Hong Kong, and the present Archbishop of Paris would be shocked beyond measure if it was suggested that he had anything in common, beyond his religious office, with a Medieval Cardinal. One thing and one thing only remains constant and unchanging, the secret doctrine of the way of power. That is a thing to work for, and if need be cast aside all inherent scruples for—as I shall tonight.’

‘Aren’t you—just a bit afraid?’ he stared at her solemnly.

‘No, provided I follow the path which is set, no harm can come to me.’

‘But it is an evil path,’ he insisted, marvelling at the change which had come over her. It almost seemed as if it were a different woman speaking or one who repeated a recitation, learned in a foreign language, with all the appropriate expression yet not understanding its true meaning, as she replied with a cynical little smile.

‘Unfortunately the followers of the Right Hand Path obsess themselves only with the well-being of the Universe as a whole, whereas those of the Left exercise their power upon living humans. To bend people to your will, to cause them to fall or rise, to place unaccountable obstacles in their path at every turn or smooth their way to a glorious success—that is more than riches, more than fame—the supreme pinnacle to which any man or woman can rise, and I wish to reach it before I die.’

‘Maybe—maybe.’ Rex shook his head with a worried frown. ‘But you’re young and beautiful—just breaking in on all the fun of life—why not think it over for a year or two. It’s horrible to hear you talk as though you were a disillusioned old woman.’

Her mouth tightened still further. ‘In a way I am—and for me, waiting is impossible because, although in your ignorance I do not expect you to believe it, as surely as the sun will set tonight I shall be dead before the year is out.’

CHAPTER XIII

THE DEFEAT OF REX VAN RYN

For a moment they sat in silence. The river flowed gently on; the sun still dappled the lower branches of the willows and flecked the water with points of light.

Gradually the fire died out of Tanith’s eyes and she sank back against the cushions of the canoe as Rex stared at her incredulously. It seemed utterly impossible that there could be any real foundation for her grim prophecy, yet her voice had held such fatal certainty.

‘It isn’t true!’ Rex seized her hand and gripped it as though, by his own vitality, he would imbue her with continued life. ‘You’re good for fifty years to come. That’s only some criminal nonsense this devil Mocata’s got you to swallow.’

‘Oh, you dear fool!’ She took his other hand and pressed it while, for a moment, it seemed as if tears were starting to her eyes. ‘If things were different I think I might like you enormously, but I knew the number of my days long before I ever met Mocata, and there is nothing which can be done to lengthen them by a single hour.’

‘Show me your hand,’ he said suddenly. It was the only thing even remotely connected with the occult of which Rex had any knowledge. The year before he had ricked an ankle, while after Grizzly in the Rockies, and had had to lie up for a week in a tiny inn where the library consisted of less than a dozen battered volumes. A book on Palmistry, which he had discovered among them, had proved a real windfall and the study of it had whiled away many hours of his enforced idleness.

As Tanith held out her hand he saw at once that it was of the unusual psychic type. Very long, narrow and fragile, the wrist small, the fingers smooth and tapering, ending in long, almond-shaped nails. The length of the first, second and third fingers exceeded that of the palm by nearly an inch, giving the whole a beautiful but useless appearance. The top phalange of the thumb, he noted, was slim and pointed, another sign of lack of desire to grapple with material things.

‘You see?’ she turned it over showing him the palm. ‘The Arabs say that “the fate of every man is bound about his brow” and mine is written here, for all who can, to read.’

Rex’s knowledge of the subject was too limited for him to do much but read character and general tendencies by the various shapes of hands, but even he was startled by the unusual markings on the narrow palm.

On the cushion of the hand the Mount of the Moon stood out firm and strong, seeming to spread over and dominate the rest, a clear sign of an exceedingly strong imagination, refinement and love of beauty; but it was tinged with that rare symbol, the Line of Intuition, giving, in connection with such a hand, great psychic powers and a leaning towards mysticism of a highly dangerous kind. A small star below the second finger, upon the Mount of Saturn, caused him additional uneasiness and he looked in vain for squares which might indicate preservation at a critical period. Yet worst of all the Line of Life, more clearly marked than he would have expected, stopped short with a horrifying suddenness at only a little over a third of the way from its commencement, where it was tied to the Line of Head.

He stared at it in silence, not knowing what to say to such sinister portents, but she smiled lightly as she withdrew her hand.

‘Don’t worry please, but there is no appeal from the verdict of the Stars and you will understand now why marriage—children— a lovely home—all things connected with the future just mean nothing to me.’

‘So that’s the reason you let yourself get mixed up in this horrible business?’

‘Yes. Since I am to die so soon no ordinary emotion can stir me any more. I look on life as though I were already a great way from it, and what happens to my physical body matters to me not at all. Ten months ago I began seriously to cultivate my psychic sense under real instruction, and the voyages which I can make now into the immensity of the void are the only things left to me which still have power to thrill.’

‘But, why in heaven’s name involve yourself with Black Magic when you might practise White?’