Chapter 233 — Sorrow
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 5 of 5
Among the Miao, the gods had always been held in awe, and this statue, enshrined since ancient times, most of all. From childhood to manhood this young man had not so much as touched the statue—rarely even looked it straight in the face, for by tribal law that too was a grave irreverence.
But now the blazing fire was mirrored in his eyes, and it seemed his very body began to burn. He gazed at the statue, and the statue's eyes seemed to gaze at him.
Then, as if some immense invisible force were driving him on from behind, the young shaman clenched his jaw and walked toward the statue step by step. In the ancient god's eyes was mirrored that ever-nearing figure, and they seemed to take on a trace of sorrow.
At last he stood before the statue. His trembling hands slowly rose, pausing again and again in midair, but in the end they reached out. The expression on his face seemed at once pain and struggle, yet more like one scorched and tormented by a flame!
But those hands, in the end, did not withdraw; they pressed upon the statue's eyes.
In an instant the low rumbling sounded again, and the whole cave began to tremble faintly. Once more the statue slowly sank into the earth, and the mysterious stone wall stood before him.
A fevered fire blazed in the young shaman's eyes. He could restrain himself no longer; he rushed forward and swept his hands through the air, and at once the black mist scattered to every side. The golden light slowly surfaced once more, lighting his face bright.
The ancient characters and patterns, seeming to carry a power to bewitch the mind, emerged one by one before his eyes. His expression was as one drinking fine wine, revealing an indescribable ecstasy and satisfaction; even his hands were trembling.
With shaking hands he lightly touched the pictures and characters upon the mysterious wall, chanting something low, filled with immense joy. Each character and pattern he seemed to want to see through; so wholly absorbed was he, so dizzy with delight, that he quite forgot—and never noticed—that at the very bottom of that array, almost merged with the surrounding darkness, a small patch of black mist still gathered and would not disperse.
The golden characters and radiant patterns seemed to have wholly possessed his mind. Beside him, the Dog God statue, with only its head left above the ground, still wore that deep look in its eyes—save that now, beneath the fire and the brilliant gold upon the wall, the figure of the young shaman was mirrored in its sockets, and beyond that first trace of deep sorrow, its age-worn gaze seemed to hold a profounder grief still!