In the valley of Nis the accursed
waning moon shines thinly, tearing a path for its light with feeble horns
through the lethal foliage of a great upas-tree. And within the depths
of the valley, where the light reaches not, move forms not meant to be
beheld. Rank is the herbage on each slope, where evil vines and creeping
plants crawl amidst the stones of ruined palaces, twining tightly about
broken columns and strange monoliths, and heaving up marble pavements laid
by forgotten hands. And in trees that grow gigantic in crumbling courtyards
leap little apes, while in and out of deep treasure-vaults writhe poison
serpents and scaly things without a name. Vast are the stones which sleep
beneath coverlets of dank moss, and mighty were the walls from which they
fell. For all time did their builders erect them, and in sooth they yet
serve nobly, for beneath them the grey toad makes his habitation.
At the very bottom of the valley lies the river Than,
whose waters are slimy and filled with weeds. From hidden springs it rises,
and to subterranean grottoes it flows, so that the Daemon of the Valley
knows not why its waters are red, nor whither they are bound.
The Genie that haunts the moonbeams spake to the Daemon
of the Valley, saying, "I am old, and forget much. Tell me the deeds and
aspect and name of them who built these things of Stone." And the Daemon
replied, "I am Memory, and am wise in lore of the past, but I too am old.
These beings were like the waters of the river Than, not to be understood.
Their deeds I recall not, for they were but of the moment. Their aspect
I recall dimly, it was like to that of the little apes in the trees. Their
name I recall clearly, for it rhymed with that of the river. These beings
of yesterday were called Man."
So the Genie flew back to the thin horned moon, and the
Daemon looked intently at a little ape in a tree that grew in a crumbling
courtyard.
