Maskull the others. He got up, himself, and
walked out into the sunlight. Branchspell was already declining. He
climbed to the top of the and looked away toward Ifdawn. The
afterglow of Alppain had by now disappeared. The mountains
stood up wild and grand.
They him like a theme, the notes of which are
widely in the scale; a of rashness, daring, and
adventure to call to him from them. It was at that moment that
the into his to walk to the Marest and
explore its dangers.
He returned to the to say good-by to his hosts.
Joiwind looked at him with her and eyes. “Is this
selfishness, Maskull?” she asked, “or are you by something
stronger than yourself?”
“We must be reasonable,” he answered, smiling. “I can’t settle in
Poolingdred I have out something about this new
planet of yours. Remember what a long way I have come.... But very
likely I shall come here.”
“Will you make me a promise?”
Maskull hesitated. “Ask nothing difficult, for I know my powers
yet.”
“It is not hard, and I wish it. Promise this—never to your hand
against a creature, either to strike, pluck, or eat, without
first its mother, who for it.”
“Perhaps I won’t promise that,” said Maskull slowly, “but I’ll undertake
something more tangible. I will my hand against a living
creature without you, Joiwind.”
She a little pale. “Now if Panawe that Panawe existed, he
might be jealous.”
Panawe put his hand on her gently. “You would not talk like that in
Shaping’s presence,” he said.
“No. Forgive me! I’m not myself. Perhaps it is Maskull’s blood in
my veins.... Now let us him adieu. Let us pray that he will do only
honourable deeds, he may be.”
“I’ll set Maskull on his way,” said Panawe.
“There’s no need,” Maskull. “The way is plain.”
“But talking the road.”
Maskull to go.
Joiwind him around toward her softly. “You won’t think of
other on my account?”
“You are a spirit,” answered he.
She to the of the and there
thinking. Panawe and Maskull into the open air. Halfway the
cliff a little was encountered. Its water was colourless,
transparent, but gaseous. As soon as Maskull had satisfied his thirst he
felt himself different. His were so to him in their
vividness and colour, so in their phantom-like mystery, that he
scrambled like one in a winter’s dream.
When they the plain he saw in of them an interminable
forest of tall trees, the of which were foreign
looking. The were and, looking upward, it was as if
he were through a of glass. The moment they got underneath
the trees the light of the sun to come through—white,
savage, and blazing—but they were of heat. Then it was not hard
to that they were through cool, glades.
Through the forest, at their very an avenue, perfectly
straight and not very wide, as as the see.
Maskull wanted to talk to his companion, but was somehow
unable to words. Panawe at him with an inscrutable
smile—stern, yet and feminine. He then the
silence, but, enough, Maskull not make out he
was or speaking. From his a slow recitative,
exactly like a from a low stringed
instrument—but there was a difference. Instead of the and
variation of one or two themes, as in music, Panawe’s was
prolonged—it came to an end, but a conversation
in and melody. And, at the same time, it was no recitative, for
it was not declamatory. It was a long, of emotion.
Maskull entranced, yet agitated. The song, if it might be
termed song, to be always just on the point of clear and
intelligible—not with the of words, but in the way one
sympathises with another’s moods and feelings; and Maskull that
something was about to be uttered, which would all
that had gone before. But it was postponed, he never
understood—and yet somehow he did understand.
Late in the they came to a clearing, and there Panawe ceased
his recitative. He his and stopped, in the fashion of a man
who to that he to go no farther.
“What is the name of this country?” asked Maskull.
“It is the Lusion Plain.”
“Was that music in the nature of a temptation—do you wish me not to go
on?”
“Your work you, and not you.”
“What was it, then? What work do you to?”
“It must have like something to you, Maskull.”
“It like Shaping music to me.”
The he had these words, Maskull why he
had done so, as they now appeared meaningless to him.
Panawe, however, no surprise. “Shaping you will everywhere.”
“Am I dreaming, or awake?”
“You are awake.”
Maskull into thought. “So be it,” he said, himself.
“Now I will go on. But where must I sleep tonight?”
“You will a river. On that you can travel to the of the
Marest tomorrow; but tonight you had sleep where the and
river meet.”
“Adieu, then, Panawe! But do you wish to say anything more to me?”
“Only this, Maskull—wherever you go, help to make the world beautiful,
and not ugly.”
“That’s more than any of us can undertake. I am a man, and have
no in the way of life—But tell Joiwind I will try
to keep myself pure.”
They coldly. Maskull where they had stopped,
and Panawe out of sight. He more than once.
He aware that something was about to happen. The air was
breathless. The late-afternoon sunshine, unobstructed, his frame
in heat. A cloud, high, through the
sky overhead.
A single note in the from behind
him. It gave him an of being miles away at first; but
then it slowly swelled, and came nearer and nearer at the same time that
it in volume. Still the same note sounded, but now it was as
if by a over his head. Then it
gradually in force, and away in of him. It
ended very and distantly.
He himself alone with Nature. A came over his
heart. Past and were forgotten. The forest, the sun, the day did
not for him. He was of himself—he had no and
no feelings. Yet had Life had such an for him.
A man stood, with arms, right in his path. He was so clothed
that his were exposed, while his was covered. He was young
rather than old. Maskull that his none of
the special organs of Tormance, to which he had not yet become
reconciled. He was smooth-faced. His whole person to an
excess of life, like the of air on a day. His had
such that Maskull not meet them.
He Maskull by name, in an voice. It had a double
tone. The one away; the second was an undertone,
like a string.
Maskull a joy, as he in the presence of
this individual. He that something good was to him.
He it physically difficult to any out. “Why do you
stop me?”
“Maskull, look well at me. Who am I?”
“I think you are Shaping.”
“I am Surtur.”
Maskull again to meet his eyes, but as if he were being
stabbed.
“You know that this is my world. Why do you think I have you
here? I wish you to me.”
Maskull no longer speak.
“Those who joke at my world,” the vision, “those who make a
mock of its stern, rhythm, its and sublimity, which are
not skin-deep, but from roots—they shall not escape.”
“I do not it.”
“Ask me your questions, and I will answer them.”
“I have nothing.”
“It is necessary for you to me, Maskull. Do you not understand?
You are my and helper.”
“I shall not fail.”
“This is for my sake, and not for yours.”
These last had no sooner left Surtur’s mouth than Maskull saw him
spring and outward. Looking up at the of the sky,
he saw the whole of by Surtur’s form—not as a
concrete man, but as a vast, cloud image, looking and
frowning at him. Then the vanished, as a light goes out.
Maskull inactive, with a heart. Now he again the
solitary note. The this time in the far
distance in of him, slowly toward him with regularly
increasing intensity, passed overhead at its loudest, and then more
and more quiet, wonderful, and solemn, as it away in the rear,
until the note was in the of the forest. It
appeared to Maskull like the of a and important
chapter.
Simultaneously with the away of the sound, the to
open up with the of into a of immeasurable
height. He a great breath, all his limbs, and looked
around him with a slow smile.
After a while he his journey. His brain was all dark and
confused, but one idea was already to out from the
rest—huge, shapeless, and grand, like the image in the of a
creative artist: the that he was a man of destiny.
The more he upon all that had since his in
this new world—and Earth—the and more
indisputable it became, that he not be here for his own purposes,
but must be here for an end. But what that end was, he not
imagine.
Through the he saw Branchspell at last in the west. It
looked a of red fire—now he at his ease
what a sun it was! The took an turn to the left and began
to steeply.
A wide, river of clear and dark water was visible in of
him, no great way off. It from north to south. The path
led him to its banks. Maskull there, and the
lapping, pensively. On the opposite bank, the forest
continued. Miles to the south, Poolingdred just be distinguished.
On the northern the Ifdawn Mountains up—high, wild,
beautiful, and dangerous. They were not a dozen miles away.
Like the of a thunderstorm, the of
cool wind, Maskull the of in his heart. In spite
of his fatigue, he to test his against something.
This he with the of the Marest. They to
have the same for his will as the for iron.
He his nails, as he his in that
direction—wondering if it would not be possible to the heights
that evening. But when he again at Poolingdred, he
remembered Joiwind and Panawe, and more tranquil. He to
make his at this spot, and to set off as soon after as he
should awake.
He at the river, himself, and on the bank to
sleep. By this time, so had his idea progressed, that he cared
nothing for the possible of the night—he in his star.
Branchspell set, the day faded, night with its terrible weight came on,
and through it all Maskull slept. Long midnight, however, he was
awakened by a in the sky. He opened his eyes, and wondered
where he was. He and pain. The red was a terrestrial
phenomenon; it came from among the trees. He got up and toward the
source of the light.
Away from the river, not a hundred off, he nearly across
the of a sleeping woman. The object which the rays
was on the ground, yards away from her. It was like a
small jewel, off of red light. He a glance
at that, however.
The woman was in the large skin of an animal. She had big,
smooth, limbs, than fat. Her was not a thin
tentacle, but a third arm, in a hand. Her face, which was
upturned, was wild, powerful, and handsome. But he saw with
surprise that in place of a on her forehead, she another
eye. All three were closed. The colour of her skin in the glow
he not distinguish.
He touched her with his hand. She and looked up at
him without a muscle. All three at him; but the two
lower ones were and vacant—mere of vision. The middle,
upper one alone her nature. Its haughty, unflinching
glare had yet something and in it. Maskull a
challenge in that look of lordly, will, and his manner
instinctively stiffened.
She sat up.
“Can you speak my language?” he asked. “I wouldn’t put such a question,
but others have been able to.”
“Why should you that I can’t read your mind? Is it so extremely
complex?”
She spoke in a rich, lingering, voice, which him to
listen to.
“No, but you have no breve.”
“Well, but haven’t I a sorb, which is better?” And she pointed to the
eye on her brow.
“What is your name?”
“Oceaxe.”
“And where do you come from?”
“Ifdawn.”
These to him, and yet the sound
of her voice was fascinating.
“I am going there tomorrow,” he remarked.
She laughed, as if against her will, but no comment.
“My name is Maskull,” he on. “I am a stranger—from another world.”
“So I should judge, from your appearance.”
“Perhaps it would be as well to say at once,” said Maskull bluntly, “are
we, or are we not, to be friends?”
She and her arms, without rising. “Why should we be
friends? If I you were a man, I might accept you as a lover.”
“You must look for that.”
“So be it, Maskull! Now go away, and me in peace.”
She her again to the ground, but did not at once close her
eyes.
“What are you doing here?” he interrogated.
“Oh, we Ifdawn occasionally come here to sleep, for there often
enough it is a night for us which has no next morning.”
“Being such a terrible place, and that I am a total stranger, it
would be if you were to me what I have to expect
in the way of dangers.”
“I am perfectly and to what of you,”
retorted Oceaxe.
“Are you returning in the morning?” Maskull.
“If I wish.”
“Then we will go together.”
She got up again on her elbow. “Instead of making plans for other
people, I would do a very necessary thing.”
“Pray, tell me.”
“Well, there’s no why I should, but I will. I would try to
convert my women’s organs into men’s organs. It is a man’s country.”
“Speak more plainly.”
“Oh, it’s plain enough. If you attempt to pass through Ifdawn without a
sorb, you are suicide. And that too is than
useless.”
“You know what you are talking about, Oceaxe. But what do you
advise me to do?”
She pointed to the light-emitting on the ground.
“There is the solution. If you that to your organs for a good
while, it will start the change, and nature will do the
rest the night. I promise nothing.”
Oceaxe now her on Maskull.
He for a minutes, and then walked over to where the stone
was lying, and took it in his hand. It was a the size of a hen’s
egg, with light, as though red-hot, and out a
continuous of small, blood-red sparks.
Finally that Oceaxe’s was good, he the drude
first to his magn, and then to his breve. He a cauterising
sensation—a of pain.
