CHAPTER II of The Riddle of Tanye



WITH A START Hoffman became conscious. He felt as if a sudden shock had just 
prevented him from slipping into an abyss of sleep. He blinked in the intense 
darkness and wondered idly why the lights in the laboratory had been put out. 
The windows were all shuttered, he had noticed before, so that would account for 
no light stealing in from outside. But why had Tate put the laboratory lights 
out? It was pitch-dark and he could neither see Tate nor anything else.
But after a while a kind of glow seemed to emanate from somewhere, as if either 
it was slowly coming into being or his eyes were just getting used to the 
darkness and it was not as deep as he had thought. And then it seemed to him 
that it was rather an extraordinary sort of light. For instance, it made things 
look different from what they had looked when he climbed into the case. The case 
itself had shrunk, so that, lying down inside it, it looked like a coffin. He 
could see that the sides turned in above the shoulder level, a thing he had not 
noticed before. Until then he had felt no fear. Perhaps that was because he 
could see through the coffin. He had been so intent on studying the strange 
change that had taken place in the thing he was imprisoned in, he had not 
thought to look just outside.
At last, however, he bethought himself to do so. There was a rhythmical play of 
something all about him; this seemed to him to be ghastly. He had not 
anticipated such a horrible sensation as he felt. For the whole thing in which 
the coffin rested was moving. It looked like nothing else than if the whole 
earth round it was falling away from him. It was horrible, so he looked above 
him and found a more cheerful sight. Directly overhead he could see the moon. 
And yet, as he stared up at it, it struck him that there was something queer 
about the moon. Still, he was glad that he was able to see it; he knew then that 
he was not buried alive.
He began to hear noises. It sounded as if someone was talking, or rather 
mouthing dull sounds which had no real meaning. Then he saw them.
They were strange creatures without shape or form. Or rather they had form, but 
it was a flowing form that constantly changed. They were all round the coffin, 
battering on it with little weak hands. In a little while Hoffman began to feel 
sorry for them, for they seemed so anxious to get into the coffin. He thought if 
he got out it would help them, so he did so, with such ease that he was 
surprised. Then he stared back at the coffin, which had gone opaque. The queer 
creatures had disappeared. He did think he saw one of them just disappearing 
into the coffin, but felt too lazy to try to puzzle out why they wanted to go 
there.
The first thing Hoffman noticed when he climbed out of the pit where the coffin 
lay was his own physical comfort. But as he reached the ground and stared back 
he was filled with sudden fear. For the ground had sealed up and he could not 
see the coffin. Then he laughed out loud. What did he want to see it for? He had 
no need of it. The world was his. So he stood on a little knoll and stared out 
across the spaces before him.
Away to the left of him was a great stretch of water, lined with banks of 
sombre-colored vegetation. To the right was an unbroken expanse of flat plain, 
bare and desolate. Directly before him, apparently about two miles away, was a 
hill. At the top of it was what appeared to him to be a large stone temple. It 
was square and somehow conveyed an impression of brutality.
AND THEN there came to Hoffman a great loneliness. He was aware of a strong 
yearning for companionship and, with this in mind, he set off towards the 
temple, thinking that there he should find some life. The idea that there would 
be a priest there if no one else ran through his mind. He reflected that if the 
place was deserted he would at least be able to look about him, perhaps see 
something indicating civilization.
It seemed to take him an extraordinary length of time to reach the temple, but 
at last he reached the bottom of the flight of broad steps which led up to what 
was obviously the entrance. From the top of the steps, square stone pillars rose 
to a great height, giving an impression of awesome grandeur and solemn 
magnificence that startled him. The pillars sloped inwards as they rose, and 
were crowned by a flat platform.
Slowly Hoffman climbed the steps, thinking what a good view of the surrounding 
country he would be able to get from that vantage point. The entrance was open, 
he found, when he reached it. He went inside and paused, bewildered.
For from a room directly before him was coming singing, but such singing as he 
had never imagined in his life. Its beauty made him think irresistibly of a 
country glade, peaceful except for the sound of water bubbling over a fall. 
Every so often there was a cadenced syllable which the voices fell over.
Hoffman entered the room from which the singing came. He stood on the threshold, 
swaying slightly, staring at the faces which were in turn staring to the other 
end of the room. They did not appear to see him, and he studied their faces with 
feelings of disgust and revulsion. They were flat and almost featureless; the 
noses were small protuberances on the white masses which were their faces. And 
presently Hoffman's eyes were drawn to what they were looking at. He gasped with 
astonishment, for the accompaniment to the singing was not of sound, as one 
would expect. It was visual! At the far end of the room was a vague swaying as 
of vapor. The movements of this vapor coincided exactly with the cadences of the 
singing in such a fitting and beautiful manner that Hoffman knew it was no 
coincidence. He watched for a long time; then there came an interruption. A dull 
booming sound which filled the air with reverberations; it seemed to be a signal 
of some kind, for all the people made ready to go. Hoffman, not wishing to face 
them all at once, went out, and began climbing a flight of steps. After what 
seemed hours he reached the platform which was at the top of the building. He 
stood there, staring at the moon, vaguely aware of some annoying detail. It was 
one of those little things which plague one when everything seems all right. At 
last it came to him what it was. The moon had been behind him when he had 
entered the temple. He was now staring opposite to the entrance and it was 
before him. It was larger, too. He stared at it, then swung around, and the 
mystery was solved. There were two moons!
Reflecting that this was probably due to some refraction of light, he turned to 
a survey of the horizon, and gasped. For across the plain before him was rushing 
a great wall of water. At terrific speed it swept onwards. Soon it was washing 
at the foot of the hill. Higher and higher climbed the angry waves, surging 
round the very foot of the temple itself. And above, inscrutable, the two moons 
passed each other. Sick and dizzy, Hoffman clung to the platform, staring down 
on the sea. He heard the thunder of feet on the stairs, knew that the people 
were coming. Suddenly he felt afraid of them, and looked for a way of escape. 
Above him was circling a large bird, of such a size that he thought it would be 
well able to bear his weight. He leapt from the platform as it circled nearer. . 
. To miss . . . He was falling . . . below him the hungry waves waited. Then 
blackness...
WHEN HOFFMAN recovered consciousness he was lying on a grass bank, clutching the 
thick and abundant grass with both hands. lt was a beautiful green bank that 
bordered a slow-moving stream. Wisps of steam curled leisurely from the surface 
of the stream; the ground, Hoffman noticed, was very hot. The earth trembled 
continually. All these things were subservient to what he really looked at.
At his side was standing the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his life. 
He thought to himself as he lay looking at her that if he had ever had an ideal 
at all in his mind, she filled it. Her dark eyes looked back at him as she said, 
in a voice that was soft and fitting to her appearance: "You have come, my lord. 
I have waited for you so long. You must never leave me again."
For a long time Hoffman was content to lie there, looking at her. But presently 
he began to take notice of other things. One was the sky, which was a heavy grey 
in colour, without trace of sun. This greyness shrouded the hill-tops and was 
only just above them. From out of it a forest ran down to the bank of the 
stream; a thick forest unlike any he had seen before. The trees in it were thick 
and contorted, as if living things that had once been animate and had frozen 
into immobility while they writhed. Hoffman turned his attention to the girl 
again.
"Where am I?"
"In the forest of Ardu."
"The forest--never heard of it."
"Have you not?"
"No."
"That is strange," she replied, non-committally.
"What country is this?"
"Avina."
Hoffman shook his head. "I thought I knew every country there was, but I have 
never heard of that."
She smiled in a carefree manner. "Never mind."
"Where are the people?" the man asked.
She looked puzzled. "Which people? No people live here."
"Then what are you doing here?"
"I came alone, to find you."
"Then how did you know I was coming?"
This time she laughed in such a strange and mysterious manner that for a moment 
Hoffman thought her mad.
"My lord," she said, "I knew you were coming. Was it not written that you should 
come? Did not the authorities of Tanye inform me that my mate was to he found 
here in so many days? Have I not come and found you? Have I not passed through 
the jungle unharmed, as was prophesied? The immutable laws said that I would 
come safely here and find you, and the immutable laws cannot be wrong. I am here 
and you are here. It is enough."
"It seems to be," Hoffman remarked. He was taken aback by the information. "And 
do we go back to Tanye?"
She shook her dark-haired head. "The laws of Tanye are that the newly-mated must 
remain away from Tanye for a period of one year. For that time they must live 
where they first met. Then they may go to the city."
"Oh! It seems as if someone has been planning my fate for me."
Hoffman ventured what he thought was a cruel thrust. "How will it be if I do not 
agree to this and tell you that I do not wish to mate with you?"
The girl laughed outright. "You cannot go against your own self, nor against 
your own destiny. The laws of Tanye are never wrong. They knew that you would 
love me and that I would love you, so the meeting was made. The only thing we 
have to do is to get accustomed to each other in the period of time allowed us. 
That is so we go back to Tanye balanced. It is all arranged."
"And do the immutable laws of Tanye say that I shall stay?"
She turned mystical eyes on him.
"That is unknown to me. Only the Ruling Ones know whether our mating will last 
or end. May it endure as Tanye endures."
"So be it," answered Hoffman. "What is your name?"
"Lulla," was the answer.
DAYS CAME and went. To Hoffman it was the happiest time he had ever known. There 
were strange beasts and creatures in the jungle, but these did not furnish 
Hoffman and the girl with food, for they lived entirely off vegetables and 
fruit. But if they were vegetarians; the animals were not; often the two would 
have to flee from the wrath of some malignant brute whose path they had chanced 
to cross.
Until there came a day when the smile was missing from the face of Lulla.
"What is the matter?" Hoffman asked, taking her in his arms.
"We must part, I do not know for how long. Tomorrow we should have gone to 
Tanye. But I shall wait for your return."
"Who says we must part?" asked the man.
The girl smiled sadly. "The laws of Tanye," she murmured, softly. "A messenger 
has been."
The afternoon of that day was hot; Hoffman thought it the hottest day in this 
so-hot land. He fell asleep on the grass bank where he and Lulla had first met . 
. .
There came to him the touch of her lips on his mouth, filling his sleep with 
sweetness, and he awoke to find her gone. The sun had sunk below the horizon, 
for the sky was dark, hanging like a pall. Hoffman felt that it was choking him.
"Lulla! Lulla!" he cried, raising himself. The echo seemed to come back 
mockingly from the jungle.
He staggered across the clearing; as he did so, it seemed the ground itself 
opened. It shook and from it rose great flames. And then his whole self was 
blotted out in the death that came upon him; the torturing agony of death by 
fire. Abruptly it was over, and he was thrown into the blackness of nothing . . 
. .



Forward to Chapter 3 of The Riddle of Tanye 
Back to Issue Table of Contents 
Back to General Table of Contents 
