THE FACE IN THE ABYSS: Sci-Fi Classic. Abraham Merritt
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be light at all in this covered way—and stranger still was that light. It seemed to be in the air—to be of the air. It came neither from walls nor roof. It seemed to filter in, creeping, along the tunnel from some source far ahead. A light that was as though it came from radiant atoms that shed their rays as they floated slowly by.
Thicker grew these luminous atoms whose radiance only, and not their bodies, could be perceived by the eye. Lighter and lighter grew the way.
Again, and as abruptly as before, it turned.
They stood within a cavern that was like a great square auditorium to some gigantic stage. Perhaps it was the smooth wall of rock a hundred yards ahead that gave Graydon that suggestion. It was like a curtain, raised an inch above the floor. Out of that crack flowed the radiant atoms whose slow drift down the tunnel filled it with the ever-growing luminosity. Here they streamed swiftly, like countless swarms of fireflies each carrying a tiny lamp of diamond light.
As he searched for some outlet to the place, the rocky curtain moved. It slid soundlessly aside for a yard or more. He turned—beside him gaunt man, little man, giant man, stood with blank, incurious eyes—
He thought he saw the red staff of the Lord of Folly pass over their heads . . . how could that be? . . . there stood the silent figure in motley, rod in hand, far off at the entrance of the cavern.
He heard the nasal cursing of Soames, a bellow from Starrett, the piping of Dancret. He swung round to them. Gone, all gone, was that unnatural deadness which had so perplexed him, gone all vagueness of action and of purpose. They were alive, alert—again their old selves.
“What the hell’s this place, Graydon? How the hell did I get here?” Soames caught his wrist in iron grip. Suarra answered for him.
“This is the treasure house I promised you—”
“Yeah?” the savage snarl silenced her. “I’m talkin’ to you, Graydon. How did I get here? You know, Danc’? You, Bill?”
Their own amazed faces gave him his answer. He swung the rifle against Graydon’s side.
“Come clean!”
Again Suarra answered, tranquilly.
“What matter how you came, since you are here—the four of you. There, where the light streams out, is the cavern where the jewels grow from the walls like fruit, and the gold streams like water. They are yours for the taking. Go take them.”
He lowered the rifle; studied her, wickedly.
“And what else is there, sister?”
“There is nothing else there,” she said. “Except a great face of carved stone.”
Slow seconds passed as he weighed her.
“Only a face carved of stone, eh?” he said at last. “Well, then—we will all go to look at it together. Call your man over here.”
“No,” she said, steadily. “We go no farther with you. You must go alone. I have told you and I tell you again—you have nothing to fear except what may be in yourselves. You fools!” She stamped her foot in sudden wrath—“If we had wished to kill you, could we not have abandoned you to the Xinli? Have you forgotten last night when you pursued the llama? I have fulfilled my promise to you. Argue no more. And beware of me—beware how you anger me further!”
Now Graydon saw Soames’ face whiten as she spoke of the llama, and saw him glance furtively at Dancret and Starrett who, too, had paled. The New Englander stood for a minute in thought. When he spoke it was quietly, and not to her.
“All right. As long as we’ve come this far we won’t go without takin’ a look at the place. Danc’, take your gun an’ go over there where we came in. Cover the old dummy, an’ keep watch. Bill an’ me’ll hold on to the girl. An’ you, Mister Graydon, you go an’ take a peep at the joint, an’ tell us what you see. You can take your gun. If we hear you shootin,’ we’ll know there’s somethin’ there except gold and jewels an’—what was it—yeah, a stone face. March, Mister Graydon—on your way.”
He gave him a push toward the radiant opening, and he and Starrett closed in on each side of the girl. Graydon noticed that they were careful not to touch her. He caught a glimpse of Dancret at the cavern’s opening. Suarra lifted her face to him. In her eyes were sorrow, agony—and love!
“Remember!” he said. “I am coming back to you!”
Soames could not know the hidden meaning of that farewell; he took its obvious one.
“If you don’t,” he sneered, “it’s goin’ to be damned hard on her! I’m tellin’ you, fellow.”
Graydon did not answer. He walked over to the curtain’s edge, swinging his automatic free as he went. He went past the edge, and full into the rush of the radiance. The opened passage was little more than ten feet long. He reached its end, and stood there, motionless. The pistol dropped from his nerveless hand, and clattered upon the rock.
He looked into a vast cavern filled with the diamonded atoms. It was like an immense hollow globe that had been cut in two, and one-half cast away. The luminosity streamed from its curving walls, and these walls were jetty black and polished like mirrors. The rays that issued from them seemed to come from infinite depths within them, darting up and out with prodigious speed—like rays shot up through inconceivable depths of black water beneath which blazed a sun of diamond incandescence.
Out of these curving walls, hanging to them like the grapes of precious jewels in the enchanted vineyards of the Paradise of El-Shiraz, like flowers in a garden of the King of the Jinns, grew clustered gems!
Great crystals, cabochon and edged, globular and angled, alive under that jubilant light with the very soul of fire that is the lure of jewels. Rubies that glowed with every rubrous tint from that clear scarlet that is sunlight streaming through the finger tips of delicate maids to deepest sullen red of bruised hearts; sapphires that shone with blues as rare as that beneath the bluebird’s wings and blues as deep as those which darken beneath the creamy crest of the Gulf Stream’s crisping waves; huge emeralds that gleamed now with the peacock verdancies of tropic shallows, and now were green as the depths of a jungle glade; diamonds that glittered with irised fires or shot forth showers of rainbowed rays; great burning opals; gems burning with amethystine flames; unknown jewels whose unfamiliar beauty checked the heart with wonder.
But it was not the clustered jewels within this chamber of radiance that had released the grip of his hand upon the automatic and had turned him into stone.
It was—the Face!
From where he stood a flight of Cyclopean steps ran down into the heart, of the cavern. At their left was the semi-globe of gemmed and glittering rock. At their right was—space. An abyss, whose other side he could not see, but which fell sheer-away from the stairway in bottomless depth upon depth.
The Face looked at him from the far side of the cavern. Bodiless, its chin rested upon the floor. Colossal, its eyes of pale blue crystals were level with his. It was carved out of the same black stone as the walls, but within it was no faintest sparkle of the darting luminescences.
It was man’s face and the face of a fallen angel’s in one; Luciferean; imperious; ruthless—and beautiful. Upon its broad brows power was enthroned—power which could have been godlike in beneficence, had it so willed, but which had chosen instead the lot of Satan.
Whoever the master sculptor, he had made of it the ultimate symbol of man’s age-old, remorseless lust for power. In the Face this lust was concentrate, given body and form, made tangible. And within himself, answering it, Graydon felt this lust stir and awaken, grow swiftly stronger, rise steadily like a wave, lapping and threatening to submerge the normal barriers that had restrained it.
Something deep within him fought against this evil rising tide; fought to hold him back from the summoning Face; fought to drag his eyes from the pallid blue ones.
And now he saw that all the darting rays, all the flashing atoms, were focused