The so that the two disappeared, and all grew
as black as night. Nightspore no longer see his companion. The
water against the of the raft.
“You say the night is past,” said Nightspore. “But the night is still
here. Am I dead, or alive?”
“You are still in Crystalman’s world, but you to it no more. We
are Muspel.”
Nightspore a strong, of the air—a rhythmical
pulsation, in four-four time. “There is the drumming,” he exclaimed.
“Do you it, or have you forgotten?”
“I it, but I’m all confused.”
“It’s Crystalman has his into you deeply,” said
Krag. “The comes from Muspel, but the is by its
travelling through Crystalman’s atmosphere. His nature is as he
loves to call it—or dull, repetition, as I name it.”
“I remember,” said Nightspore, his in the dark.
The audible; it now like a drum. A
small of light in the distance, ahead of
them, to the and the sea
around it.
“Do all men from that world, or only I, and a like
me?” asked Nightspore.
“If all escaped, I shouldn’t sweat, my friend... There’s hard work, and
anguish, and the of total death, waiting for us yonder.”
Nightspore’s sank. “Have I not yet finished, then?”
“If you wish it. You have got through. But will you wish it?”
The loud and painful. The light itself into a
tiny of in a of night. Krag’s
grim and were revealed.
“I can’t rebirth,” said Nightspore. “The of death is nothing
to it.”
“You will choose.”
“I can do nothing. Crystalman is too powerful. I with my
own soul.”
“You are still with Earth fumes, and see nothing straight,” said
Krag.
Nightspore no reply, but to be trying to something.
The water around them was so still, colourless, and transparent, that
they to be up by liquid at all. Maskull’s
corpse had disappeared.
The was now like the of iron. The of
light much bigger; it burned, and wild. The above,
below, and on either of it, to shape itself into the
semblance of a huge, black wall, without bounds.
“Is that a we are to?”
“You will soon out. What you see is Muspel, and that light is the
gate you have to enter.”
Nightspore’s wildly.
“Shall I remember?” he muttered.
“Yes, you’ll remember.”
“Accompany me, Krag, or I shall be lost.”
“There is nothing for me to do in there. I shall wait for you.”
“You are returning to the struggle?” Nightspore, his
fingertips.
“Yes.”
“I not.”
The of the on his like
actual blows. The light so that he was no longer able to
look at it. It had the of lightning,
but it this peculiarity—that it somehow to give
out not light, but emotion, as light. They to
approach the of darkness, toward the door. The glasslike
water right against it, its surface up almost to the
threshold.
They not speak any more; the noise was too deafening.
In a minutes they were the gateway. Nightspore his
back and his in his two hands, but then he was by
the light. So were his that his to
enlarge itself. At every of sound, he violently.
The entrance was doorless. Krag jumped onto the and
pulled Nightspore after him.
Once through the gateway, the light vanished. The sound—blows
totally ceased. Nightspore his hands.... All was dark and quiet
as an opened tomb. But the air was with grim, passion,
which was to light and what light itself is to colour.
Nightspore pressed his hand to his heart. “I don’t know if I can endure
it,” he said, looking toward Krag. He his person more vividly
and than if he had been able to see him.
“Go in, and no time, Nightspore.... Time here is more than
on earth. We can’t the minutes. There are terrible and tragic
affairs to to, which won’t wait for us... Go in at once. Stop for
nothing.”
“Where shall I go to?” Nightspore. “I have forgotten
everything.”
“Enter, enter! There is only one way. You can’t mistake it.”
“Why do you me go in, if I am to come out again?”
“To have your healed.”
Almost the had left his mouth, Krag on to the
island raft. Nightspore started after him, but at once
recovered himself and where he was. Krag was
completely invisible; was black night.
The moment he had gone, a up in Nightspore’s like a
thousand trumpets.
*****
Straight in of him, almost at his feet, was the end of a
steep, narrow, of steps. There was no other way
forward.
He put his on the stair, at the same time aloft. He
saw nothing, yet as he every of the way was
perceptible to his feelings. The was cold, dismal, and
deserted, but it to him, in his of soul, like a ladder
to heaven.
After he had a dozen steps or so, he paused to take breath. Each
step was difficult to ascend; he as though he were
carrying a man on his shoulders. It a familiar in his
mind. He on and, ten stairs higher up, came to a window set in a
high embrasure.
On to this he clambered, and looked through. The window was of a of
glass, but he see nothing. Coming to him, however, from the world
outside, a of the his senses, his
blood to cold. At one moment it a low, mocking, vulgar
laugh, from the ends of the earth; at the next it was like a
rhythmical of the air—the silent, of some
mighty engine. The two were identical, yet different. They
seemed to be related in the same manner as and body. After feeling
them for a long time, Nightspore got from the embrasure, and
continued his ascent, having meanwhile very serious.
The still more laborious, and he was to stop at
every third or fourth step, to his and breath. When
he had another twenty stairs in this way, he came to a second
window. Again he saw nothing. The laughing of the air, too,
had ceased; but the was now twice as as
before, and its had _double_. There were two separate
pulses; one was in the time of a march, the other in the time of a
waltz. The was and to feel, but the second was
gay, enervating, and horrible.
Nightspore little time at that window, for he that he was on
the of a great discovery, and that something more important
awaited him higher up. He aloft. The more and more
exhausting, so much so that he had to down, utterly
crushed by his own weight. Still, he got to the third window.
He into the embrasure. His themselves into
vision, and he saw a that him to turn pale. A gigantic,
self-luminous was in the sky, nearly the whole
of it. This was of two of active beings.
There were a of green corpuscles, in size from the
very small to the almost indiscernible. They were not green, but he
somehow saw them so. They were all in one direction—toward
himself, toward Muspel, but were too and to make any
headway. Their action produced the he had previously
felt, but this was not in the themselves,
but was a of the they met with. And, surrounding
these of life and light, were larger of white light
that and thither, the green with them
wherever they desired. Their motion was by the
waltzing rhythm. It to Nightspore that the green were not
only being about against their will but were suffering
excruciating and in consequence. The larger ones were
steadier than the small, a were almost stationary,
and one was in the direction it to go.
He his to the window, his in his hands, and
searched in the of his memory for an of what he
had just seen. Nothing came straight, but and to take
possession of him.
On his way to the next window, to him to
be his and it about here and there; but he
never of back. His mood was so that he did not once
permit himself to pause. Such was his physical by the time that
he had into the recess, that for minutes he see
nothing at all—the world to be him rapidly.
When at last he looked, he saw the same as before, but now all
was on it. It was a world of rocks, minerals, water, plants,
animals, and men. He saw the whole world at one view, yet was
so that he the smallest of life. In
the of every individual, of every of individuals, of
every chemical atom, he the presence of the green
corpuscles. But, according to the of of the life form,
they were or large. In the crystal, for
example, the green, life was so minute as to be scarcely
visible; in some men it was bigger; but in other men and it
was twenty or a hundred times greater. But, great or small, it played an
important part in every individual. It appeared as if the of
white light, which were the individuals, and themselves
beneath the bodies, were with and wished
only to it, but the green were in a condition of
eternal discontent, yet, and not which way to turn for
liberation, form, as though a new path, by way of
experiment. Whenever the old into the new
grotesque, it was in every case the direct work of the green atoms,
trying to toward Muspel, but opposition.
These of living, were hopelessly
imprisoned in a of soft pleasure. They were being
effeminated and corrupted—that is to say, in the foul, sickly
enveloping forms.
Nightspore a in his as he looked on at that
spectacle. His had long since vanished. He his nails, and
understood why Krag was waiting for him below.
He slowly to the window. The pressure of air against him
was as as a full gale, of and irregularity, so
that he was not for an to his efforts.
Nevertheless, not a stirred.
Looking through the window, he was by a new sight. The sphere
was still there, but it and the Muspel-world in which he was
standing he a dim, shadow, without any distinguishable
shape, but somehow out a of sweetness.
Nightspore that it was Crystalman. A of light—but it
was not light, but passion—was all the time from Muspel to the
Shadow, and through it. When, however, it on the other side,
which was the sphere, the light was in character. It became
split, as by a prism, into the two of life which he had previously
seen—the green and the whirls. What had been but
a moment ago was now a of crawling, wriggling
individuals, each of pleasure-seeking will having, as nucleus, a
fragmentary of green fire. Nightspore the back
rays of Starkness, and it across him with the of truth
that the green were the rays, and the the forward
rays, of Muspel. The were trying to return to their
place of origin, but were by the of the latter,
which only to where they were. The were
jostling and with, and devouring, each other. This created
pain, but, pain they felt, it was always that they
sought. Sometimes the green were for a moment to
move a little way in the direction of Muspel; the would then
accept the movement, not only without demur, but with and
pleasure, as if it were their own handiwork—but they saw beyond
the Shadow, they that they were toward it. The
instant the direct movement them, as to their whirling
nature, they again to killing, dancing, and loving.
Nightspore had a that the window would prove to be
the last. Nothing would have him from to it, for he
guessed that the nature of Crystalman himself would there become
manifest. Every step was like a life-and-death struggle.
The stairs him to the ground; the air pressure blood to
gush from his nose and ears; his like an iron bell. When he
had his way up a dozen steps, he himself at the
top; the in a small, of cold stone,
possessing a single window. On the other of the another
short of stairs through a trap, to the of
the building. Before these stairs, Nightspore to the
window and out.
The of Crystalman had much closer to him, and filled
the whole sky, but it was not a of darkness, but a shadow.
It had neither shape, colour, yet it in some way the
delicate of early morning. It was so that the sphere
could be through it; in extension, however, it was
thick. The sweet from it was strong, loathsome, and
terrible; it to from a of loose, slime
inexpressibly and ignorant.
The from Muspel with and variety. It
was not individuality, but above it. It was not the One, or the
Many, but something else either. It approached Crystalman,
and entered his body—if that be called a body. It
passed right through him, and the passage him the most exquisite
pleasure. _The Muspel-stream was Crystalman’s food_. The emerged
from the other on to the sphere, in a condition. Part of it
reappeared unaltered, but into a million
fragments. These were the green corpuscles. In through
Crystalman they had by of their extreme
minuteness. The other part of the had not escaped. Its fire had
been abstracted, its was withdrawn, and, after being and
softened by the of the host, it into
individuals, which were the of will.
Nightspore shuddered. He at last how the whole world of
will was to in order that one Being might feel
joy.
Presently he set on the final leading to the roof; for he
remembered that now only that remained.
Halfway up, he fainted—but when he he persisted
as though nothing had to him. As soon as his was above the
trap, the free air, he had the same physical as a
man out of water. He his up, and expectantly
on the stone-floored roof, looking for his of
Muspel.
There was nothing.
He was upon the top of a tower, not above fifteen
feet each way. Darkness was all around him. He sat on the stone
parapet, with a heart; a him.
Suddenly, without or anything, he had the distinct
impression that the around him, on all four sides, was
grinning.... As soon as that happened, he that he was wholly
surrounded by Crystalman’s world, and that Muspel of himself
and the tower on which he was sitting.
Fire in his heart.... Millions upon millions of grotesque,
vulgar, ridiculous, individuals—once Spirit—were calling out
from their and for from Muspel.... To answer
that there was only himself... and Krag waiting below... and
Surtur—But where was Surtur?
The truth itself on him in all its cold, reality. Muspel
was no all-powerful Universe, from pure the
existence by with it of another false world, which had no
right to be. Muspel was for its life—against all that is most
shameful and frightful—against as beauty,
against as Nature, against the Devil masquerading
as God....
Now he everything. The was no one, no
Valhalla, where are cut to pieces by day and by night;
but a death in which what is than death—namely,
spiritual death—inevitably the of Muspel.... By what
means he from this war!
During those moments of anguish, all of Self—the of
his life on Earth—were out of Nightspore’s soul, not
for the time.
After a long time, he prepared to descend. Without warning, a
strange, over the of the world. Starting in awful
mystery, it ended with such a note of low and that he
could not for a moment it originated. It was the voice of
Crystalman.
*****
Krag was waiting for him on the raft. He a
stern at Nightspore.
“Have you everything?”
“The is hopeless,” Nightspore.
“Did I not say I am the stronger?”
“You may be the stronger, but he is the mightier.”
“I am the and the mightier. Crystalman’s Empire is but a shadow
on the of Muspel. But nothing will be done without the bloodiest
blows.... What do you to do?”
Nightspore looked at him strangely. “Are you not Surtur, Krag?”
“Yes.”
“Yes,” said Nightspore in a slow voice, without surprise. “But what is
your name on Earth?”
“It is pain.”
“That, too, I must have known.”
He was for a minutes; then he onto the raft.
Krag pushed off, and they into the darkness.
