XXXIII

After a while I looked up from the book and saw another vessel approaching – neither a boat nor a raft nor a three-masted ship this time, but a sleek, smooth-lined yacht with three men aboard.  As they drew near, one of them fixed me in the beam of a bright searchlight.

“Look there!” I heard him cry.  “A child!  A child afloat on the open sea!”

“You’re right!” agreed one of his companions.  “And such a tiny child at that!  How pitiful!”

“On the contrary,” put in a third voice, “how absurd!”

They went on talking in this way for a few minutes, then lowered a small lifeboat from the side of the yacht and rowed over to me.  Before I knew what was happening two pairs of large hands had laid hold of me and pulled me into the boat.

“Wait!” I cried.  “I want to stay where I am!  Leave me alone!”

“We can’t do that!” laughed a man with a broad, kind face and a shock of thick, curly, reddish-brown hair.  “I’d say we found you just in time,” he added, patting my wet head and wrapping a big woolly blanket over my shoulders.

When we reached the yacht, his companions – a neatly dressed younger man and a small, dark figure in a white smock-coat – hauled me aboard while the big kindly fellow said, “What in creation were you doing out there, child?”

“I’m making my journey to the rising sun!” I spluttered when at last I stood looking up at them, dripping and shivering, from the polished deck of the yacht.  “I’m following the Firebird!  The current itself was carrying me along!”

“How interesting!” smiled the broad-faced man in a kind, indulgent tone.

“How absurd!” snapped the figure in the white smock-coat, shaking his head as he stroked his sharp little bearded chin.

The neatly dressed younger man drew a pen from his breast pocket and noted something down in a black book he carried under his arm.

“I know it sounds crazy,” I continued, “but it’s true!  I was instructed to let the current take me straight into the sunset, right through its flaming circle and out the other side!  It’s the only way to reach the sunrise of Christmas morning!  That’s where I’m going to meet the rider of the eight-legged horse!”

The young man squinted up at me from his black book.  “What a ridiculous notion!” he sneered.

“Ridiculous, yes, Jack,” said the man in the smock-coat, “but it actually reflects a modicum of understanding.”

“More importantly, Dr. Roger,” volunteered the broad faced man, putting an arm around my shoulder and regarding me with an understanding smile, “it contains a beautifully mythologized representation of a deeper spiritual truth.”

“I care nothing for your literary musings, Ralph,” replied Dr. Roger with a wave of his hand.  “This child’s tale is founded upon the ancient and outmoded belief in a flat earth.  The scientific fact of the matter is that, because the earth is actually round, one can indeed reach the sunrise by traveling into the sunset – in other words, sail from today into tomorrow.  But it can only be done by achieving a rate of speed sufficient to outstrip the rate of the earth’s rotation.  This yacht is equipped to do just that.”  He glared at me for a moment, then continued.  “We intend to do exactly what you propose, but we intend to do it in the only way possible:  through the power of science and technology.”

“It’s an inspiring concept, isn’t it?” said Ralph, one hand still resting on my shoulder.  “A journey into tomorrow!  A poetic image, a living symbol of the indomitable, questing spirit of man!”

“Also a very expensive concept,” added Jack, glancing up at me from his ledger book.  “It requires money and planning and organization.  I don’t suppose you’ve ever given much thought to that side of the question, have you?”

By this time I was so thoroughly confused that I had to fight to keep back the tears.

“No, I haven’t,” I said in answer to Jack’s question.  “I don’t care about all that.  All I want is to be allowed to continue my journey!  Won’t you please put me back in the water?”

To my great surprise, the three men drew off to one side of the deck and conferred earnestly with one another for several minutes.  At length they returned and stood facing me in solemn silence.

“It’s like this,” said Jack.  “We have our doubts about you.  We don’t think you’re capable of appreciating everything that’s involved in a journey of this kind.”

“Certainly not,” said Dr. Roger, shaking his head and stroking his bearded chin.

“I’m afraid I have to agree,” added Ralph sadly – “though I think you have a lot of the right kind of inspiration.  I’ll always regard you as a kindred spirit.”

“In short,” Jack concluded, “we have decided that it will not be possible for you to remain on board this yacht.  I’m afraid we must ask you to leave.”

With that, Ralph picked me up as if I were nothing but a rag doll and tossed me overboard into the dark, churning water.

“Goodbye, dear friend,” he waved.  “And good luck!”

Then the powerful engines of the yacht began to rev.  They revved and roared until the sound became deafening.  In the next instant the craft leapt away, covering me in a deluge of foam and spray, and sped off into the red-gold glow on the horizon.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

XXXII

“There lies your course,” said the golden lady.  “Quickly now – step down into the pool.”

My reflection shattered into a thousand pieces as I put my foot into the water.  She took hold of me by both shoulders and guided me out into the midst of the stream.

“Let the current carry you,” she said.  “When you have come to the edge of the sea, to the place where the sun is now sinking in the west, you must pass directly through its fiery circle and out the other side.  There you will find Christmas morning breaking.  There you will see the one you seek.”

Though the water was cold, I found that it did not chill me in the least.  Leaning forward into it, I swam a few strokes, then turned back to wave a final farewell.  The golden-haired lady was gone.  In her place I saw the sparrow bound upward into the air and then go darting past my head, down the watery corridor, and out into the ruddy sky at the tunnel’s end.  Plunging ahead, I began swimming after it.

At the end of the tunnel the stream cascaded down a short fall of smooth white stones.  I was plunged head-first into the sea and came up spluttering, blowing, and shaking the hair from my eyes.  Clutching the little book tightly to my chest, I fought furiously with one arm and both legs to stay afloat.

This is hopeless! I thought as my mouth filled with brine and my head went under a second time.

Then something hard struck me on the back of the head.  I lashed out with my free hand and got hold of the object, only to find that it was one of the logs from the wrecked raft.  With a great effort, I pulled myself up over it and clung to its rough rounded surface with all my strength.

This at least should keep me from sinking, I said to myself with a feeling of relief.

A red glow was flickering and playing over the tops of the dancing waves.  In the sky above me and not far ahead flew the Firebird, its tail of flame streaming out behind like the tail of a comet.   The warming glow returned to my heart and a smile played at the corners of my mouth.  Then the powerful current spun the log around and sent me once more out into the depths of the open sea.

For some time all went well.  The Firebird remained just ahead of me in the sky, cleaving the dark air like a winged pillar of flame.  For my part, I had no reason to trouble myself about keeping up with the pace it set:  the sea-current carried me forward without the least effort on my part.

As I drifted onward the ruddy light continued to grow on the horizon.  I passed the time by reading in the little book, being wonderfully strengthened and refreshed by its words.  Gradually there grew within me a strange sense that I had no more need of food or drink or covering of any kind.  The book, the guidance of the Firebird, the motion of the strong sea-current – these, it seemed, were all I required as I continued my journey towards the setting and the rising of the sun.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

XXXI

At length the voice spoke again, directly above me this time:

“Arise.  Now that you have seen what you have seen, it is time that you be up and going again.  Christmas morning is poised upon the horizon, and he has promised to meet you there.”

I opened my eyes.  There above me I saw the sweet young face of the lady with the golden hair and the circlet of spring flowers smiling down upon me.  She touched my brow with her slender fingers and I rose and stood upon the floor and gazed up at her in amazement.

There was a sweet and heady fragrance in the air.  Looking around, I saw the reason for this.  Everywhere I glanced, on all sides, brilliant flowers of every hue were growing right out of the rock itself, bigger and brighter and more brilliant that any flowers I had ever seen in my life.  In another way, too, they were different from the flowers I had known before.  Like the body I had seen in the orb of light, they not only put down roots into the floor of the cave, but also sent strong stalks shooting upwards to pierce the ceiling of the chamber.

“What kind of flowers are these?” I asked.  “I’ve never seen anything like them!  How can they grown down here, away from the light of the sun?”

“These are the seeds and roots of the flowers of your experience.  When the stalks break through the ceiling of the cavern, then they appear in the open air of the visible world above.  Which is to say that the flowers you remember are really only a very small part of the whole – just the tip of the iceberg.  The flowers you see here are the larger unseen truth behind the flowers of the upper world.”

A small underground rivulet gurgled up out of the rock and flowed through the cavern near at hand.  Very close to where we stood I saw a small, clear pool fed by its waters.

“Go to the pool,” said the lady.  “Look into its waters and tell me what you see.”

I stepped quickly to the pool, leaned over its pure, glassy surface, and gasped with surprise.  The face I saw reflected there was not my own face as I remembered it, but rather that of a little child.

“What does this mean?” I cried.  “Am I really growing younger?”

“Yes!” the lady laughed.  “It is all part of the journey you are making.  It comes of eating the golden apples I gave you.  Are you displeased?”

“No.  Only confused.  And yet I remember now that the man I met on the raft spoke to me of this very thing.  He too had been wounded by the Firebird, I think.”

For a moment I stood gazing down at the reflection in the pool.  Then, turning and looking up into the lady’s face, I said, “But what should I do now?  Shall I stay here with you?  Is this to be my new home?”

My heart beat faster as I said the words.  I loved the lady with the golden hair and wanted desperately to remain in her company.  After what I had done, I could hardly believe that I was actually seeing her standing there before me, alive again and smiling at me as if nothing untoward had happened.

“No,” she said.  “You must go on.  You must continue your journey to the place of the rising sun.

“But how?” I cried.  “I have foolishly lost all the good gifts you and your sisters gave me!”

There was a tear in the corner of her eye as she spoke.  “You have indeed lost much, but not all.  In fact, everything you need for the journey is with you at this very moment.  It remains where you have kept it from the very beginning – close to your heart.”

“The book?” I whispered wonderingly.  Reaching inside my gown, I found it there next to my skin, intact and whole and completely legible in spite of having been exposed to the rain and the seawater.

“The words of the book are all you need,” she said.  “That, and the help of a friend who will never desert you.  Look!”

I followed her pointing finger with my eyes to a place where the cavern narrowed to a tunnel through which flowed the little subterranean stream.  At the end of the tunnel appeared a patch of blue sky.  I could hear the splash of sea-waves echoing down its length.  And there in the sky at the tunnel’s end burned a bright reddish star with a long flashing tail.

“The Firebird!” I whispered; and immediately the warm glow returned to the wound in my heart.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

XXX

The longer I stared, the more I became convinced.  Yes.  The body I was seeing was indeed my own – the very same body I had dragged out into the chill night air when the small gray bird led me in search of the rider of the eight-legged horse.  I found this discovery mildly surprising, but was not shocked or disturbed by it in any way.  I remembered how the body had been changed into a sack of seed and how I had sown all of it in the field surrounding the grassy hill.  I recalled all of this as one might recall something read in a book a long time ago.

As I watched, I heard a voice speaking from some hidden recess of the cavern.  It was distant and faint, yet I knew somehow that it was speaking to me.

“Whose body is this?” it said.

“My own,” I replied.  “It is myself.”

Strangely, when I spoke my voice seemed to come not out of my own mouth but from the picture in the orb of light.  It, too, sounded distant and detached.

“Does this body live?” the voice asked.  It was sweet and melodious, the voice of a lady.

“No,” I answered flatly.  “It is dead, buried, scattered abroad.”

“But who buried it?”

“I did.  I did it myself.”

There was a long silence during which I contemplated the body on the slab and my own last words concerning it.  At last the voice spoke again:

“How is it that you have come to this place?”

“I threw myself down,” I returned.  “I wanted to destroy myself.”

“And do you see now,” the voice responded, apparently drawing nearer, “why you cannot do that?”

Another silence.  Then the voice again:

“Can this body live again?”

“I don’t know,” I answered.  “No, I don’t think so.”

“But look closer!”

I did, and saw a very strange thing.  From the fingers and toes of the body grew long tendrils which extended downwards into the floor of the cavern and penetrated the rock like the roots of a plant.  And from the top of its head rose a slender green shoot that reached up towards me through the shadows of the sparkling stalactites.

“Now look to yourself!” said the voice, even closer this time.

Once more I tried to see my hand in front of my face.  At first there was nothing; but then, very slowly, something began to emerge from the blackness.  In the beginning it was nothing more than a mist, a blur of faint light.  Then it grew and took on color – the color of flesh.  At last it came sharply into focus.  What I saw was a hand indeed, but not the hand I had expected to see.  It was very small and very fair, the hand of a very small child.

And now the light was growing all around me, so that I could see not only my hand but my whole body, wrapped in a long white gown.  I saw, too, the stone walls and dripping ceiling of the chamber in which I lay.  Gone was the orb of light; and when I sat up to look for it, I found that I was lying on a slab of stone exactly like the one in the vision.  I would have risen, but I felt extremely weak and exhausted with the mere effort of sitting up.  So I lay back down again upon the cold stone and closed my eyes.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

XXIX

I had expected, even hoped, to be dashed upon craggy rocks and instantly killed at the bottom of this narrow ravine.  Imagine my surprise, then, when I found myself falling slowly and ever more slowly until I seemed to be floating like a feather down into the darkness.  The blackness grew thicker as I descended, so that at last I was able to see nothing of myself or of my surroundings.  And yet the air itself became curiously lighter, warmer, and more pleasantly fragrant as I drifted deeper into the chasm.

Down, down I floated for a long, long time, until at last I came to rest upon something.  What this something was, I could not tell.  It was neither soft nor hard, though it felt quite solid and firm.  I lay on my back in utter darkness thinking, This must be how it feels to be a body at the bottom of a grave or a lifeless stone on the ocean floor.  Not an inch did I stir.  Looking back I cannot say for certain whether I was or was not able to move; I only know that I never did.  So intense was the quiet inside me that it was almost frightening.  No longer could I feel the pain of the wound in my heart.

Gradually I entered into a state I can hardly describe, absolutely motionless and unmoved.  I did not know whether I was alive or dead, awake or asleep.  Indeed, I did not know whether I would be able to discern the difference between waking and sleeping, since I could see nothing with my eyes.  I could, however, feel the soft movements of the fragrant air, and they led me to suppose that I was lying in a large, open chamber of some kind.  If my sense of the passage of time had been confused while I floated on the ocean, it now failed me altogether.

Eventually a small point of light appeared within my field of vision, so small and faint at first that I could not be sure that I was actually seeing anything at all.  It grew until it became a small glowing orb, but still I could not make up my mind whether the sensation were real or imaginary.  Perhaps it is a dream, I vaguely thought.  Perhaps I am dead after all.

The orb of light continued to grow, yet curiously it did not illumine anything around it.  Except for the bright globe itself, all was complete blackness.  But as it swelled in size I began to notice changes in its appearance.  No longer did it seem to be of a single hue but variegated, and the colors within its sphere were constantly moving, shifting, and forming new patterns, like a kaleidoscope.  In time these patches of color, blurred at first, began to grow sharper.  At length they focused themselves into shapes that remained constant, though as yet I could not tell what they were.

At last the circle of light grew so large and clear that I could no longer doubt what I was seeing.  I seemed to be looking down, as if through a big round picture window, upon a huge underground cavern.  The whole scene was softly lit.  Sparkling stalagmites and stalactites stretched from ceiling to floor, some creating massive ribbed and fluted columns of many colors, others taking the form of pearly curtains and screens of the most delicate and lacy design, so that the place resembled nothing so much as a grand cathedral.  In the very center of my field of view and, as it were, directly below me, was a large rectangular slab of stone.  Upon the slab lay a body.

As I looked, I became convinced that the body was mine.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

XXVIII

“Rise,” came the voice of the small gray bird at my ear.  “Be comforted.”

“What comfort can I have?” I sobbed.  “I have lost everything.  What can I do?”

“There is only one thing to do,” he answered.  “You must continue your journey to the place of the rising sun.  There is no way back and no other way forward.  In this you must find comfort.”

In spite of my tears I raised my head and laughed.

“Comfort!” I cried bitterly.  “That is no comfort!  Don’t you see?  I cannot continue this journey!  I have neither the courage, the strength, nor the wisdom.  I have proven to you and to myself that I am not good enough!”

He was starting to reply – saying something about someone who had all strength and wisdom and power – but suddenly I was on my feet and in a red rage.  The bird fluttered up from my shoulder and hovered above my head.  I stooped and scooped up some loose pieces of rock that lay at my feet.

“Get out of here!” I shouted, hurling a handful at the birds.  “Get away from me!  What do I want with you anyhow?  I know that you hate me!  That’s clear to me now!  Not that I blame you for it.  But I want you to go!  Go away!  I am not fit for your company!”

There was a great rustling and fluttering of wings as they all beat a hasty retreat before my mad onslaught.  But they did not go far.  Instead, they flew in cautious circles round about the rock, not far above my head.  This, of course, only infuriated me all the more.  As if crazed with anger, I hurled rock upon rock after them into the air, trying madly to drive them off.  So blind, so careless was the fit into which I had fallen that it came to me as a shock when one of my missiles actually found its mark.  In the next moment I saw the sparrow plummet from the sky to the dark rock several yards in front of me.

Instantly my anger dropped away from me like a loosened garment.  Chilled in the grip of a sudden and naked horror I stood dumbfounded, feeling as if I had been pierced to the heart with a knife of frozen fire.  In the shock of the moment my knees buckled under me.  I fell and scraped my arms and legs against the rock.  Then, scrambling to my feet, I ran to the spot where the tiny bird had landed.

What was my surprise when I reached the place and found not the sparrow stretched lifeless upon the ground, but the beautiful young lady who had given me the basket of apples!  Her rich golden hair spilled unbound over the bare blackness of the rock.  Scattered nearby lay the fragments of her circlet of spring flowers.  The light in her fair eyes was gone, and she lay on her back with her right arm twisted unnaturally beneath her body.  All down her right side the kirtle of pure white linen was stained with dark blood.

“What have I done?” I cried, flinging myself upon her and tearing my hair with both hands.  “How could I have been so cruel and hateful?”

For a long time I lay there, weeping and wailing uncontrollably, gouging my cheeks with my nails, trying frantically but unsuccessfully to rouse her.

At last, black with despair, I got up and cast about for a way to destroy myself.  Not far away I saw huge cleft in the rock, a yawning chasm slicing straight down into the depths of the earth.

Without another thought, I cast myself down into it.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

XXVII

“Tell the truth!” said the small gray bird sharply.

As he spoke, he fluttered upwards into the air above my head and flashed his eyes at me terribly.  Small as he was, I cowered before him, awed at the sight.  The outline of his form grew indistinct and began to shimmer and vibrate.  An aura as of fire seemed to glow about his head.  It was as if he were on the verge of some great transformation.  But the transformation did not come.  Instead, he fluttered down and perched quietly on my shoulder again.

“Did you forget us and our gifts?” asked the dove.  “Did you not remember the one you were seeking?”  Here voice was sad and gentle, and I thought I caught the glint of a tear in her eye.

“No, I did not forget,” I answered.  “It’s just that – well, here you all are, obviously quite real and alive, and I hardly know what to say.  But when I was alone and could not see you …”

“What then?” asked the grim raven.

“Why, other things – the things I could see – seemed far more real to me then,” I said.  I felt pleased that I had been able to put my thoughts into words.

“What things?” asked the sparrow, cocking her head to one side and regarding me out of one eye.

“The endless sea,” I said.  “The sun that would not rise.  The sense of dread in my own heart.  The faces and words of the raftsmen.”

“What about my cloak?” croaked the raven.  “Did it no longer keep you warm?”

“And my lamp?” asked the dove.  “Did its light ever go out?”

“And my basket of apples?” chirped the sparrow.  “Did you ever find it empty?”

“Only once,” I said, looking from one to the other.  “At the very end, I gave up the basket to the steersman, and when he handed it back, it was empty.  Other than that, none of these gifts ever failed me.”

“But if they never failed you,” asked the raven, “how could you give them up so easily?”

“It was not easy,” I answered slowly.  “But at the time they seemed less important to me than the saving of my life.”

The dove cooed sadly.  “Did you not see,” she said, “that it was these gifts and these gifts alone that had preserved your life up to that very moment?”

I was tired of attempting to make a defense for my actions.  Even before the birds had come I was already regretting the loss of the three gifts.  Now as they spoke I was smitten with the full realization of my foolishness.  I fell down with my face to the rock and began to cry.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *