



Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




The Eye of Istar
A Romance of the Land of No Return
By William Le Queux
Illustrations by Alfred Pearse
Published by Frederick A. Stokes Company, New York.

The Eye of Istar, by William Le Queux.

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THE EYE OF ISTAR, BY WILLIAM LE QUEUX.

PREFACE.

_PEACE, O READER!  Constant, blessed and abundant salutations_.

_Of a verity the groves of my hopes have been refreshed by cooling
showers from the clouds of Allah's blessing, my rose garden has been
weeded of the thorns of despondency, and the tree of my prosperity has
become fruit-bearing from the breeze of his bounty.  He is the Giver of
Gifts, the Source of Liberality, the Sovereign, the dust of whose
sandals is deservedly the collyrium of the eyes of mortal men; and I,
called by my fellows El-Motardjim, am the servant who, in compliance
with the exalted command, have placed my finger of acquiescence on the
vision of obedience.  During many hopeless nights I waited for the
radiation of the sun of the benefits of prosperity, and counted the
stars till the rise of dawn, but, by my ill-luck and the machinations of
enemies, was deprived of the felicity of penetrating the mystery of the
Land Forbidden_.

_At length, however, on a happy day when the fire of my anguish burned
so brightly that it was not easy to extinguish it with the water of
patience, the Abolisher of the signs of darkness and aberration invested
me with the robe of the favoured, guarded me through the calamities and
vicissitudes of fortune during long journeys, directed my footsteps
through the mazes of paths untrodden, and revealed unto my dazzled eyes
weird and wondrous marvels stranger than men have dreamed_.

_Therefore, O Reader! wipe the dust of ennui and fatigue from the
speculum of thy mind, withdraw the tongue of blame into thy palate, and
lend a willing ear to this my Tarik; for, verily, I have elucidated the
secret of the mystic Land of the No Return; I have torn the veil that
hideth the Great Sin from the eyes of men, and have gazed into the Eye
of Istar.  "Imsh Allah_!"

PROLOGUE.

Thrice hath the Fast of Ramadan come and gone since the Granter of
Requests last allowed my eyes to behold the well-remembered landscape,
scarcely visible in the pale light of dawn.  Hills, covered with tall
feathery palms, rose abruptly from the barren, sun-scorched plain, and,
at their foot, stood the dazzlingly-white city of Omdurman, the
impregnable and mysterious headquarters of Mahdiism, while beyond, like
a silver ribbon winding through the marshes, the Nile glided, half
veiled by its thin white cloud of morning vapours.

Within the walled and strongly-guarded city was a scene, strange and
fantastic.  The air, heavy with war rumours, was rent by the deafening
strokes of enormous brazen tamtams, mingling with the loud shouts of
dark-faced Jalins, half-naked <DW64> fanatics of the Kunjara and the
Dinka, armed _cap a pie_, ready for battle at a moment's notice.  The
excitement, which had increased daily for many months, had risen to
fever heat.

Throughout the short, hot night, the great _nahas_--those huge brass war
drums of the Khalifa Abdullah, Ruler of the Soudan--had been beaten by
relays of perspiring <DW64> slaves, glittering with beads and trinkets,
the indescribable monotonous rhythm causing the wildly-excited populace
to cry, "_Nakelkum_!" and "_Naklulkum_!" as, in the fresh, cool hour,
when the Wolf's Tail--the first brushes of grey light which appear as
forerunners of dawn--showed in the heavens, they seized guns, spears and
shields, and rushing from their houses across the great square of Abu
Anga they congregated in the wide, open space near the Tree of Hadra,
where the Raya Zerga, or dreaded black standard of the Khalifa, hung
ominous and motionless in the morning air.

Wild-haired men sped fleetly to and fro, brandishing their gleaming arms
and apostrophising Eblis; women left their millet unbeaten and followed,
while musicians chanted war songs softly in a sad falsetto, accompanying
themselves upon their little _ginkris_--those queer, two stringed
guitars, fashioned from a tortoise shell, which give forth a dismal
sound like the chirping of a grasshopper of the oasis.  The servants of
the Merciful are those