The husband got up to meet his wife and their guest. He was in
white. He had a face, with and poigns. His skin, on face
and alike, was so white, fresh, and soft, that it looked
skin at all—it a new of pure, flesh,
extending right to his bones. It had nothing in common with the
artificially skin of an over-civilised woman. Its and
delicacy no thoughts; it was the
manifestation of a cold and almost of nature. His hair,
which to the of his neck, also was white; but again, from
vigour, not decay. His were black, and fathomless. He was
still a man, but so were his that he had the
appearance of a lawgiver, and this in of their great and
harmony.
His and Joiwind’s for a single moment and Maskull saw
his with love, while she looked exultant. She put him in her
husband’s arms with force, and back, and smiling.
Maskull embarrassed at being by a man, but
submitted to it; a of cool, passed through him in
the act.
“The is red-blooded, then?”
He was by Panawe’s speaking in English, and the voice too was
extraordinary. It was tranquil, but its seemed
in a fashion to be an illusion, from a of
thoughts and so great that their motion not be detected.
How this be, he did not know.
“How do you come to speak in a you have before?”
demanded Maskull.
“Thought is a rich, thing. I can’t say if I am speaking
your by instinct, or if you are my thoughts
into your as I them.”
“Already you see that Panawe is than I am,” said Joiwind gaily.
“What is your name?” asked the husband.
“Maskull.”
“That name must have a meaning—but again, is a thing. I
connect that name with something—but with what?”
“Try to discover,” said Joiwind.
“Has there been a man in your world who something from the Maker
of the universe, in order to his creatures?”
“There is such a myth. The hero’s name was Prometheus.”
“Well, you to be in my mind with that action—but what it
all means I can’t say, Maskull.”
“Accept it as a good omen, for Panawe lies, and speaks
thoughtlessly.”
“There must be some confusion. These are me,” said
Maskull calmly, but looking contemplative.
“Where do you come from?”
“From the of a sun, called Earth.”
“What for?”
“I was of vulgarity,” returned Maskull laconically. He
intentionally his voyagers, in order that
Krag’s name should not come to light.
“That’s an motive,” said Panawe. “And what’s more, it may be
true, though you spoke it as a prevarication.”
“As as it goes, it’s true,” said Maskull, at him with
annoyance and surprise.
The for about a mile from where they were
standing to the of the mountain. Feathery reeds
showed themselves here and there through the shallows. The water was
dark green. Maskull did not see how they were going to it.
Joiwind his arm. “Perhaps you don’t know that the will bear
us?”
Panawe walked onto the water; it was so that it his
weight. Joiwind with Maskull. He started to slip
about—nevertheless the motion was amusing, and he learned so fast, by
watching and Panawe, that he was soon able to himself
without assistance. After that he the sport excellent.
For the same that in dancing, Joiwind’s falls
and were more and sure than those of either of
the men. Her slight, form—dipping, bending, rising, swaying,
twisting, upon the surface of the dark water—this was a picture Maskull
could not keep his away from.
The deeper. The water green-black. The crags,
gullies, and of the now be in
detail. A was visible, hundred feet. The
surface of the disturbed—so much so that Maskull had
difficulty in his balance. He therefore himself and
started on the of the water. Joiwind her head, and
laughed so that all her teeth in the sunlight.
They in a more minutes on a of black rock. The
water on Maskull’s and very quickly. He gazed
upward at the mountain, but at that moment some strange
movements on the part of Panawe his attention. His was
working convulsively, and he to about. Then he put his
hand to his mouth and took from it what looked like a bright-coloured
pebble. He looked at it for some seconds. Joiwind also looked,
over his shoulder, with colors. After this inspection,
Panawe let the object—whatever it was—fall to the ground, and took no
more in it.
“May I look?” asked Maskull; and, without waiting for permission, he
picked it up. It was a egg-shaped of pale
green.
“Where did this come from?” he asked queerly.
Panawe away, but Joiwind answered for him. “It came out of my
husband.”
“That’s what I thought, but I couldn’t it. But what is it?”
“I don’t know that it has either name or use. It is an
overflowing of beauty.”
“Beauty?”
Joiwind smiled. “If you were to nature as the husband, and Panawe
as the wife, Maskull, would be explained.”
Maskull reflected.
“On Earth,” he said after a minute, “men like Panawe are called artists,
poets, and musicians. Beauty into them too, and out of them
again. The only is that their productions are more and
intelligible.”
“Nothing comes from it but vanity,” said Panawe, and, taking the crystal
out of Maskull’s hand, he it into the lake.
The they now had to climb was hundred in height.
Maskull was more for Joiwind than for himself. She was evidently
tiring, but she all help, and was in still the of
the two. She a at him. Panawe in quiet
thoughts. The was sound, and did not under their weight.
The of Branchspell, however, was by this time almost killing, the
radiance was in its white intensity, and Maskull’s pain
steadily worse.
When they got to the top, a of dark appeared, of
vegetation, in as as the see.
It was of a nearly of five hundred yards, from the of
the to the of the of inland. The hills
varied in height. The cup-shaped Poolingdred was a
thousand above them. The upper part of it was with a kind
of which he not comprehend.
Joiwind put her hand on Maskull’s shoulder, and pointed upward. “Here
you have the in the whole land—that is, until you come to
the Ifdawn Marest.”
On that name, he a unaccountable
sensation of wild and restlessness—but it passed away.
Without time, Panawe the way up the mountainside. The lower
half was of rock, not difficult to climb. Halfway up, however, it
grew steeper, and they to meet and small trees. The growth
became as they to ascend, and when they the
summit, tall trees appeared.
These and trees had pale, and branches, but the
small and the were and crystal. They no
shadows from above, but still the was cool. Both and
branches were shaped. What Maskull the most,
however, was the that, as as he see, any two
plants to the same species.
“Won’t you help Maskull out of his difficulty?” said Joiwind, pulling
her husband’s arm.
He smiled. “If he’ll me for again in his brain. But
the is small. Life on a new planet, Maskull, is necessarily
energetic and lawless, and not and imitative. Nature is still
fluid—not yet rigid—and is plastic. The will and sports
incessantly, and thus no two are alike.”
“Well, I all that,” Maskull, after listening
attentively. “But what I don’t is this—if here
sport so energetically, how it come about that beings wear
much the same shape as in my world?”
“I’ll that too,” said Panawe. “All that resemble
Shaping must of one another.”
“Then is the will to like Shaping?”
“Exactly.”
“It is most wonderful,” said Maskull. “Then the of man is
not a by idealists, but a solid fact.”
Joiwind looked at him, and colour. Panawe into
sternness.
Maskull in a new phenomenon. The jale-coloured
blossoms of a were waves, which with his
breve he distinguish. They out silently, “To me! To
me!” While he looked, a itself through the air to one
of these and to its nectar. The cry
immediately ceased.
They now the of the mountain, and looked beyond. A
lake its crater-like cavity. A of trees partly
intercepted the view, but Maskull was able to that this
mountain was nearly and a of a mile
across. Its a hundred them.
Observing that his did not to descend, he them to
wait for him, and to the surface. When he got there, he
found the water perfectly and of a transparency.
He walked onto it, at full length, and into the depths.
It was clear: he see for an distance,
without at any bottom. Some dark, objects, almost out
of of his eyes, were moving about. Then a sound, very and
mysterious, to come up through the water from an immense
depth. It was like the of a drum. There were four of equal
length, but the was on the third. It on for a considerable
time, and then ceased.
The appeared to him to to a different world from that in
which he was travelling. The was mystical, dreamlike, and
unbelievable—the was like a very of reality. It
resembled the of a clock in a room full of voices, only
occasionally possible to be up by the ear.
He Panawe and Joiwind, but said nothing to them about his
experience. They all walked the of the crater, and down
on the opposite side. Precipices to those that had overlooked
the here the of a plain, whose
dimensions not be by the eye. It was solid land, yet he
could not make out its colour. It was as if of
transparent glass, but it did not in the sunlight. No objects in
it be distinguished, a river in the distance,
and, off still, on the horizon, a line of dark mountains, of
strange shapes. Instead of being rounded, conical, or hogbacked, these
heights were by nature into the of battlements,
but with indentations.
The sky above the was of a vivid, blue. It
contrasted in a most way with the of the of the
heavens. It more and radiant, and was in like the
afterglow of a sunset.
Maskull on looking. The more he gazed, the more and noble
became his feelings.
“What is that light?”
Panawe was than usual, while his wife to his arm. “It is
Alppain—our second sun,” he replied. “Those are the Ifdawn
Marest.... Now let us to our shelter.”
“Is it imagination, or am I being affected—tormented by that
light?”
“No, it’s not imagination—it’s real. How can it be otherwise when two
suns, of different natures, are you at the same time? Luckily
you are not looking at Alppain itself. It’s here. You would
need to go at least as as Ifdawn, to set on it.”
“Why do you say ‘luckily’?”
“Because the by those would be more
than you bear.... But I don’t know.”
For the that of their walk, Maskull was very
thoughtful and uneasy. He nothing. Whatever object his eye
chanced to on into a puzzle. The and
stillness of the brooding, mysterious, and waiting.
Panawe gave him a friendly, look, and without led
the way a little track, which the of the mountain
and in the mouth of a cave.
This was the home of Panawe and Joiwind. It was dark inside. The
host took a and, it with liquid from a well, carelessly
sprinkled the of the interior. A greenish, phosphorescent
light spread to the limits of the cavern, and
continued to it for the whole time they were there. There was
no furniture. Some dried, for couches.
The moment she got in, Joiwind in exhaustion. Her husband
tended her with concern. He her face, put drink to her lips,
energised her with his magn, and her to sleep. At the
sight of the woman thus on his account, Maskull was
distressed.
Panawe, however, to him. “It’s true this has
been a very long, hard journey, but for the it will
lighten all her other for her.... Such is the nature of
sacrifice.”
“I can’t how I have walked so in a morning,” said Maskull,
“and she has been twice the distance.”
“Love in her veins, of blood, and that’s why she is so
strong.”
“You know she gave me some of it?”
“Otherwise you couldn’t have started.”
“I shall that.”
The of the day outside, the mouth of the cavern,
the of the interior, with its green glow, invited
Maskull to sleep. But got the of his lassitude.
“Will it her if we talk?”
“No.”
“But how do you feel?”
“I little sleep. In any case, it’s more that you
should something about your new life. It’s not all as and
idyllic as this. If you to go through, you ought to be instructed
about the dangers.”
“Oh, I as much. But how shall we arrange—shall I put questions,
or will you tell me what you think is most essential?”
Panawe to Maskull to on a of ferns, and at the
same time himself, on one arm, with legs.
“I will tell some of my life. You will to learn from
them what of place you have come to.”
“I shall be grateful,” said Maskull, preparing himself to listen.
Panawe paused for a moment or two, and then started his in
tranquil, measured, yet tones.
PANAWE’S STORY
“My is of being taken, when three years old
(that’s to fifteen of your years, but we more slowly
here), by my father and mother, to see Broodviol, the man in
Tormance. He in the great Wombflash Forest. We walked through
trees for three days, sleeping at night. The trees as we
went along, until the were out of sight. The were of a dark
red colour and the were of ulfire. My father stopping
to think. If left uninterrupted, he would for a day in deep
abstraction. My mother came out of Poolingdred, and was of a different
stamp. She was beautiful, generous, and charming—but also active. She
kept him on. This to many them, which made
me miserable. On the fourth day we passed through a part of the forest
which on the Sinking Sea. This sea is full of of water
that will not a man’s weight, and as these light parts don’t differ
in from the rest, it is to cross. My father pointed
out a on the horizon, and told me it was Swaylone’s Island.
Men sometimes go there, but none return. In the of the same
day we Broodviol in a deep, in the forest,
surrounded on all by trees three hundred high. He was a big
gnarled, rugged, wrinkled, old man. His age at that time was a
hundred and twenty of our years, or nearly six hundred of yours. His
body was trilateral: he had three legs, three arms, and six eyes, placed
at equal all around his head. This gave him an of great
watchfulness and sagacity. He was in a of trance. I
afterward this saying of his: ‘To is to sleep, to is to
dream, to is to think.’ My father the infection, and fell
into meditation, but my mother them thoroughly. Broodviol
scowled at her savagely, and what she required. Then I too
learned for the time the object of our journey. I was a
prodigy—that is to say, I was without sex. My were over
this, and to the of men.
“Old Broodviol his face, and said, ‘This will not be so
difficult. I will the marvel. Every man and woman among us is a
walking murderer. If a male, he has with and killed the female
who was in the same with him—if a female, she has killed the
male. But in this child the is still continuing.’
“‘How shall we end it?’ asked my mother.
“‘Let the child direct its will to the of the combat, and it will
be of it pleases.’
“‘You want, of course, to be a man, don’t you?’ said my mother to me
earnestly.
“‘Then I shall be your daughter, and that would be a crime.’
“Something in my Broodviol’s notice.
“‘That was spoken, not selfishly, but magnanimously. Therefore the male
must have spoken it, and you need not trouble further. Before you arrive
home, the child will be a boy.’
“My father walked away out of sight. My mother very low before
Broodviol for about ten minutes, and he all that time looking
kindly at her.
“I that Alppain came into that land for a few
hours daily. Broodviol melancholy, and died.
“His came true—before we home, I the meaning of
shame. But I have often over his since, in later years,
when trying to my own nature; and I have come to the
conclusion that, of men as he was, he still did not see quite
straight on this occasion. Between me and my sister, in
one body, there was any struggle, but for
life of us from for existence. Hers was the
stronger temperament, and she herself—though not
consciously—for me.
“As soon as I this, I a to eat or destroy
anything that life—and I have it since.
“While I was still a man, my father died. My mother’s death
followed immediately, and I the of the land. I
therefore up my mind to travel into my mother’s country, where, as
she had often told me, nature was most and solitary.
“One I came to Shaping’s Causeway. It is so called either
because Shaping once it, or of its character.
It is a natural embankment, twenty miles long, which the mountains
bordering my with the Ifdawn Marest. The at a
depth from eight to ten thousand feet—a terrible on
either side. The knife of the is not much over a
foot wide. The goes north and south. The on my right
hand was in shadow—that on my left was with sunlight
and dew. I walked along this path for some miles.
Far to the east the was closed by a tableland, connecting
the two of mountains, but the most towering
pinnacles. This is called the Sant Levels. I was there, but I have
heard two the inhabitants. The is that
they have no women; the second, that though they are to
travelling in other parts they of the with
whom they reside.
“Presently I giddy, and at full length for a great while,
clutching the two of the path with hands, and at the
ground I was on with wide-open eyes. When that passed I like
a different man and and gay. About across I saw
someone me a long way off. This put into my heart
again, for I did not see how we very well pass. However, I went
slowly on, and presently we near together for me to
recognise the walker. It was Slofork, the so-called sorcerer. I had
never met him before, but I him by his of person. He
was of a colour and a very long, proboscis-like
nose, which appeared to be a useful organ, but did not add to his
beauty, as I beauty. He was ‘sorcerer’ from his wondrous
skill in and organs. The is told that one he
slowly his leg off with a and then for two days in
agony while his new leg was sprouting. He was not to be a
consistently wise man, but he had of and
audacity that none equal.
“We sat and one another, about two yards apart.
“‘Which of us walks over the other?’ asked Slofork. His manner was as
calm as the day itself, but, to my nature, terrible with hidden
terrors. I at him, but did not wish for this humiliation. We
continued thus, in a way, for many minutes.
“‘What is than Pleasure?’ he asked suddenly.
“I was at an age when one to be equal to any emergency,
so, my surprise, I myself to the conversation, as if
it were for that purpose we had met.
“‘Pain,’ I replied, ‘for pain out pleasure.’
“‘What is than Pain?’
“I reflected. ‘Love. Because we will accept our loved one’s of
pain.’
“‘But what is than Love?’ he persisted.
“‘Nothing, Slofork.’
“‘And what is Nothing?’
“‘That you must tell me.’
“‘Tell you I will. This is Shaping’s world. He that is a good child
here, pleasure, pain, and love, and his rewards. But there’s
another world—not Shaping’s—and there all this is unknown, and another
order of reigns. That world we call Nothing—but it is not
Nothing, but Something.’
“There was a pause.
“‘I have heard,’ said I, ‘that you are good at and ungrowing
organs?’
“‘That’s not for me. Every organ tells me the same story. I want
to different stories.’
“‘Is it true, what men say, that your and in pulses?’
“‘Quite true,’ Slofork. ‘But those you had it from did not add
that they have always the for the ebb.’
“‘My is,’ said I sententiously, ‘that is misery.’
“‘Perhaps it is, man, but you have learned that, and never
will. For you the world will continue to wear a noble, face. You
will above mysticism.... But be happy in your own way.’
“Before I what he was doing, he jumped from the
path, into the empty void. He with ever-increasing momentum
toward the below. I screeched, myself on the ground,
and my eyes.
“Often have I which of my ill-considered, it
was that this on his part to suicide.
Whichever it might be, since then I have it a law to
speak for my own pleasure, but only to help others.
“I came to the Marest. I its in terror for
four days. I was of death, but still more at the
possibility of my toward life. When I was nearly
through, and was to myself, I across the
third of my experience—the Muremaker. It
was under circumstances. On an afternoon, cloudy and stormy, I
saw, in the air without visible support, a man. He was
hanging in an position in of a cliff—a gulf, a
thousand deep, his feet. I as near as I could,
and looked on. He saw me, and a grimace, like one who to
turn his into humour. The so me that I
could not what had happened.
“‘I am Muremaker,’ he in a voice which my ears.
‘All my life I have others—now I am sorbed. Nuclamp and I fell
out over a woman. Now Nuclamp me up like this. While the strength
of his will lasts I shall suspended; but when he tired—and
it can’t be long now—I into those depths.’
“Had it been another man, I would have to save him, but this ogre-
like being was too well to me as one who passed his whole
existence in tormenting, murdering, and others, for the sake
of his own delight. I away, and did not pause again that day.
“In Poolingdred I met Joiwind. We walked and talked together for a
month, and by that time we that we loved each other too well to
part.”
Panawe stopped speaking.
“That is a story,” Maskull. “Now I to know my
way around better. But one thing puzzles me.”
“What’s that?”
“How it that men here are of and arts, and have
no civilisation, and yet to be social in their and wise
in their thoughts.”
“Do you imagine, then, that love and from tools? But I see
how it arises. In your world you have organs, and to make up
for the you have been to call in the of
stones and metals. That’s by no means a of superiority.”
“No, I not,” said Maskull, “but I see I have a great to
unlearn.”
They talked together a little longer, and then asleep.
Joiwind opened her eyes, smiled, and again.
