Maskull was shaken. His cynicism dropped from him and gave place to curiosity and awe. "That was exactly like the birth of a thought," he said to himself, "but who was the thinker? Some great Living Mind is at work in this spot. He has intelligence, for all his shapes are different, and he has character, for all belong to the same general type.... If I'm not wrong, and if it's the force called Shaping or Crystalman, I've seen enough to make me want to find out something more about him.... It would be ridiculous to go on to other riddles before I have solved these."

A voice called out to him from behind, and, turning around, he saw a human figure hastening toward him from some distance down the ravine. It looked more like a man than a woman. He was rather tall, but nimble, and was clothed in a dark, frocklike garment that reached from the neck to below the knees. Around his head was rolled a turban. Maskull waited for him, and when he was nearer went a little way to meet him.

Then he experienced another surprise, for this person, although clearly a human being, was neither man nor woman, nor anything between the two, but was unmistakably of a third positive sex, which was remarkable to behold and difficult to understand. In order to translate into words the sexual impression produced in Maskull's mind by the stranger's physical aspect, it is necessary to coin a new pronoun, for none in earthly use would be applicable. Instead of "he," "she," or "it," therefore "ae" will be used.

He found himself incapable of grasping at first why the bodily peculiarities of this being should strike him as springing from sex, and not from race, and yet there was no doubt about the fact itself. Body, face, and eyes were absolutely neither male nor female, but something quite different. Just as one can distinguish a man from a woman at the first glance by some indefinable difference of expression and atmospheres altogether apart from the contour of the figure, so the stranger was separated in appearance from both. As with men and women, the whole person expressed a latent sensuality, which gave body and face alike their peculiar character.... Maskull decided that it was love—but what love—love for whom? it was neither the shame-carrying passion of a male, nor the deep-rooted instinct of a female to obey her destiny. It was as real and irresistible as these, but quite different.

As he continued staring into those strange, archaic eyes, he had an intuitive feeling that her lover was no other than Shaping himself. It came to him that the design of this love was not the continuance of the race but the immortality on earth of the individual. No children were produced by the act; the lover aerself was the eternal child. Further, ae sought like a man, but received like a woman. All these things were dimly and confusedly expressed by this extraordinary being, who seemed to have dropped out of another age, when creation was different.

Of all the weird personalities Maskull had so far met in Tormance, this one struck him as infinitely the most foreign—that is, the farthest removed from him in spiritual structure. If they were to live together for a hundred years, they could never be companions.

Maskull pulled himself out of his trancelike meditations and, viewing the newcomer in greater detail, tried with his understanding to account for the marvellous things told him by his intuitions. Ae possessed broad shoulders and big bones, and was without female breasts, and so far ae resembled a man. But the bones were so flat and angular that aer flesh presented something of the character of a crystal, having plane surfaces in place of curves. The body looked as if it had not been ground down by the sea of ages into smooth and rounded regularity but had sprung together in angles and facets as the result of a single, sudden idea. The face too was broken and irregular. With his racial prejudices, Maskull found little beauty in it, yet beauty there was, though neither of a masculine nor of a feminine type, for it had the three essentials of beauty: character, intelligence, and repose. The skin was copper-coloured and strangely luminous, as if lighted from within. The face was beardless, but the hair of the head was as long as a woman's, and, dressed in a single plait, fell down behind as far as the ankles. Ae possessed only two eyes. That part of the turban which went across the forehead protruded so far in front that it evidently concealed some organ.

Maskull found it impossible to compute aer age. The frame appeared active, vigorous, and healthy, the skin was clear and glowing; the eyes were powerful and alert—ae might well be in early youth. Nevertheless, the longer Maskull gazed, the more an impression of unbelievable ancientness came upon him—aer real youth seemed as far away as the view observed through a reversed telescope.

At last he addressed the stranger, though it was just as if he were conversing with a dream. "To what sex do you belong?" he asked.

The voice in which the reply came was neither manly nor womanly, but was oddly suggestive of a mystical forest horn, heard from a great distance.

"Nowadays there are men and women, but in the olden times the world was peopled by 'phaens.' I think I am the only survivor of all those beings who were then passing through Faceny's mind."

"Faceny?"

"Who is now miscalled Shaping or Crystalman. The superficial names invented by a race of superficial creatures."

"What's your own name?"

"Leehallfae."

"What?"

"Leehallfae. And yours is Maskull. I read in your mind that you have just come through some wonderful adventures. You seem to possess extraordinary luck. If it lasts long enough, perhaps I can make use of it."

"Do you think that my luck exists for your benefit?... But never mind that now. It is your sex that interests me. How do you satisfy your desires?"

Leehallfae pointed to the concealed organ on aer brow. "With that I gather life from the streams that flow in all the hundred Matterplay valleys. The streams spring direct from Faceny. My whole life has been spent trying to find Faceny himself. I've hunted so long that if I were to state the number of years you would believe I lied."

Maskull looked at the phaen slowly. "In Ifdawn I met someone else from Matterplay—a young man called Digrung. I absorbed him."

"You can't be telling me this out of vanity."

"It was a fearful crime. What will come of it?"

Leehallfae gave a curious, wrinkled smile. "In Matterplay he will stir inside you, for he smells the air. Already you have his eyes.... I knew him.... Take care of yourself, or something more startling may happen. Keep out of the water."

"This seems to me a terrible valley, in which anything may happen."

"Don't torment yourself about Digrung. The valleys belong by right to the phaens—the men here are interlopers. It is a good work to remove them."

Maskull continued thoughtful. "I say no more, but I see I will have to be cautious. What did you mean about my helping you with my luck?"

"Your luck is fast weakening, but it may still be strong enough to serve me. Together we will search for Threal."

"Search for Threal—why, is it so hard to find?"

"I have told you that my whole life has been spent in the quest."

"You said Faceny, Leehallfae."

The phaen gazed at him with queer, ancient eyes, and smiled again. "This stream, Maskull, like every other life stream in Matterplay, has its source in Faceny. But as all these streams issue out from Threal, it is in Threal that we must look for Faceny."

"But what's to prevent your finding Threal? Surely it's a well-known country?"

"It lies underground. Its communications with the upper world are few, and where they are, no one that I have ever spoken to knows. I have scoured the valleys and the hills. I have been to the very gates of Lichstorm. I am old, so that your aged men would appear newborn infants beside me, but I am as far from Threal as when I was a green youth, dwelling among a throng of fellow phaens."

"Then, if my luck is good, yours is very bad.... But when you have found Faceny, what do you gain?"

Leehallfae looked at him in silence. The smile faded from aer face, and its place was taken by such a look of unearthly pain and sorrow that Maskull had no need to press his question. Ae was consumed by the grief and yearning of a lover eternally separated from the loved one, the scents and traces of whose person were always present. This passion stamped her features at that moment with a wild, stern, spiritual beauty, far transcending any beauty of woman or man.

But the expression vanished suddenly, and then the abrupt contrast showed Maskull the real Leehallfae. Aer sensuality was solitary, but vulgar—it was like the heroism of a lonely nature, pursuing animal aims with untiring persistence.

He looked at the phaen askance, and drummed his fingers against his thigh. "Well, we will go together. We may find something, and in any case I shan't be sorry to converse with such a singular individual as yourself."

"But I should warn you, Maskull. You and I are of different creations. A phaen's body contains the whole of life, a man's body contains only the half of life—the other half is in woman. Faceny may be too strong a draught for your body to endure.... Do you not feel this?"

"I am dull with my different feelings. I must take what precautions I can, and chance the rest." He bent down, and, taking hold of the phaen's thin and ragged robe, tore off a broad strip, which he proceeded to swathe in folds around his forehead. "I'm not forgetting your advice, Leehallfae. I would not like to start the walk as Maskull and finish it as Digrung."

The phaen gave a twisted grin, and they began to move upstream. The road was difficult. They had to stride from boulder to boulder, and found it warm work. Occasionally a worse obstacle presented itself, which they could surmount only by climbing. There was no more conversation for a long time. Maskull, as far as possible, adopted his companion's counsel to avoid the water, but here and there he was forced to set foot in it. The second or third time he did so, he felt a sudden agony in his arm, where it had been wounded by Krag. His eyes grew joyful; his fears vanished; and he began deliberately to tread the stream.

Leehallfae stroked aer chin and watched him with screwed-up eyes, trying to comprehend what had happened. "Is your luck speaking to you, Maskull, or what is the matter?"

"Listen. You are a being of antique experience, and ought to know, if anyone does. What is Muspel?"

The phaen's face was blank. "I don't know the name."

"It is another world of some sort."

"That cannot be. There is only this one world—Faceny's."

Maskull came up to aer, linked arms, and began to talk. "I'm glad I fell in with you, Leehallfae, for this valley and everything connected with it need a lot of explaining. For example, in this spot there are hardly any organic forms left—why have they all disappeared? You call this brook a 'life stream,' yet the nearer its source we get, the less life it produces. A mile or two lower down we had those spontaneous plant-animals appearing out of nowhere, while right down by the sea, plants and animals were tumbling over one another. Now, if all this is connected in some mysterious way or other with your Faceny, it seems to me he must have a most paradoxical nature. His essence doesn't start creating shapes until it has become thoroughly weakened and watered.... But perhaps both of us are talking nonsense."

Leehallfae shook aer head. "Everything hangs together. The stream is life, and it is throwing off sparks of life all the time. When these sparks are caught and imprisoned by matter, they become living shapes. The nearer the stream is to its source, the more terrible and vigorous is its life. You'll see for yourself when we reach the head of the valley that there are no living shapes there at all. That means that there is no kind of matter tough enough to capture and hold the terrible sparks that are to be found there. Lower down the stream, most of the sparks are vigorous enough to escape to the upper air, but some are held when they are a little way up, and these burst suddenly into shapes. I myself am of this nature. Lower down still, toward the sea, the stream has lost a great part of its vital power and the sparks are lazy and sluggish. They spread out, rather than rise into the air. There is hardly any kind of matter, however delicate, that is incapable of capturing these feeble sparks, and they are captured in multitudes—that accounts for the innumerable living shapes you see there. But not only that—the sparks are passed from one body to another by way of generation, and can never hope to cease being so until they are worn out by decay. Lowest of all, you have the Sinking Sea itself. There the degenerate and enfeebled life of the Matterplay streams has for its body the whole sea. So weak is it's power that it can't succeed in creating any shapes at all but you can see its ceaseless, futile attempts to do so, in those spouts."

"So the slow development of men and women is due to the feebleness of the life germ in their case?"

"Exactly. It can't attain all its desires at once. And now you can see how immeasurably superior are the phaens, who spring spontaneously from the more electric and vigorous sparks."

"But where does the matter come from that imprisons these sparks?"

"When life dies, it becomes matter. Matter itself dies, but its place is constantly taken by new matter."

"But if life comes from Faceny, how can it die at all?"

"Life is the thoughts of Faceny, and once these thoughts have left his brain they are nothing—mere dying embers."

"This is a cheerless philosophy," said Maskull. "But who is Faceny himself, then, and why does he think at all?"

Leehallfae gave another wrinkled smile. "That I'll explain too. Faceny is of this nature. He faces Nothingness in all directions. He has no back and no sides, but is all face; and this face is his shape. It must necessarily be so, for nothing else can exist between him and Nothingness. His face is all eyes, for he eternally contemplates Nothingness. He draws his inspirations from it; in no other way could he feel himself. For the same reason, phaens and even men love to be in empty places and vast solitudes, for each one is a little Faceny."

"That rings true," said Maskull.

"Thoughts flow perpetually from Faceny's face backward. Since his face is on all sides, however, they flow into his interior. A draught of thought thus continuously flows from Nothingness to the inside of Faceny, which is the world. The thoughts become shapes, and people the world. This outer world, therefore, which is lying all around us, is not outside at all, as it happens, but inside. The visible universe is like a gigantic stomach, and the real outside of the world we shall never see."

Maskull pondered deeply for a while.

"Leehallfae, I fail to see what you personally have to hope for, since you are nothing more than a discarded, dying thought."

"Have you never loved a woman?" asked the phaen, regarding him fixedly.

"Perhaps I have."

"When you loved, did you have no high moments?"

"That's asking the same question in other words."

"In those moments you were approaching Faceny. If you could have drawn nearer still, would you not have done so?"

"I would, regardless of the consequences."

"Even if you personally had nothing to hope for?"

"But I would have that to hope for."

Leehallfae walked on in silence.

"A man is the half of Life," ae broke out suddenly. "A woman is the other half of life, but a phaen is the whole of life. Moreover, when life becomes split into halves, something else has dropped out of it—something that belongs only to the whole. Between your love and mine there is no comparison. If even your sluggish blood is drawn to Faceny, without stopping to ask what will come of it, how do you suppose it is with me?"

"I don't question the genuineness of your passion," replied Maskull, "but it's a pity you can't see your way to carry it forward into the next world."

Leehallfae gave a distorted grin, expressing heaven knows what emotion. "Men think what they like, but phaens are so made that they can see the world only as it really is."

That ended the conversation.

The sun was high in the sky, and they appeared to be approaching the head of the ravine. Its walls had still further closed in and, except at those moments when Branchspell was directly behind them, they strode along all the time in deep shade; but still it was disagreeably hot and relaxing. All life had ceased. A beautiful, fantastic spectacle was presented by the cliff faces, the rocky ground, and the boulders that choked the entire width of the gorge. They were a snow-white crystalline limestone, heavily scored by veins of bright, gleaming blue. The rivulet was no longer green, but a clear, transparent crystal. Its noise was musical, and altogether it looked most romantic and charming, but Leehallfae seemed to find something else in it—aer features grew more and more set and tortured.

About half an hour after all the other life forms had vanished, another plant-animal was precipitated out of space, in front of their eyes. It was as tall as Maskull himself, and had a brilliant and vigorous appearance, as befitted a creature just out of Nature's mint. It started to walk about; but hardly had it done so when it burst silently asunder. Nothing remained of it—the whole body disappeared instantaneously into the same invisible mist from which it had sprung.

"That bears out what you said," commented Maskull, turning rather pale.

"Yes," answered Leehallfae, "we have now come to the region of terrible life."

"Then, since you're right in this, I must believe all that you've been telling me."

As he uttered the words, they were just turning a bend of the ravine. There now loomed up straight ahead a perpendicular cliff about three hundred feet in height, composed of white, marbled rock. It was the head of the valley, and beyond it they could not proceed.

"In return for my wisdom," said the phaen, "you will now lend me your luck."

They walked up to the base of the cliff, and Maskull looked at it reflectively. It was possible to climb it, but the ascent would be difficult. The now tiny brook issued from a hole in the rock only a few feet up. Apart from its musical running, not a sound was to be beard. The floor of the gorge was in shadow, but about halfway up the precipice the sun was shining.

"What do you want me to do?" demanded Maskull. "Everything is now in your hands, and I have no suggestions to make. Now it's your luck that must help us."

Maskull continued gazing up a little while longer. "We had better wait till the afternoon, Leehallfae. I'll probably have to climb to the top, but it's too hot at present—and besides, I'm tired. I'll snatch a few hours' sleep. After that, we'll see."

Leehallfae seemed annoyed, but raised no opposition.



Chapter 17. CORPANG

Maskull did not awaken till long after Blodsombre. Leehallfae was standing by his side, looking down at him. It was doubtful whether ae had slept at all.

"What time is it?" Maskull asked, rubbing his eyes and sitting up.

"The day is passing," was the vague reply.

Maskull got on to his feet, and gazed up at the cliff. "Now I'm going to climb that. No need for both of us to risk our necks, so you wait here, and if I find anything on top I'll call you."

Ale phaen glanced at him strangely. "There's nothing up there except a bare hillside. I've been there often. Have you anything special in mind?"

"Heights often bring me inspiration. Sit down, and wait."

Refreshed by his sleep, Maskull immediately attacked the face of the cliff, and took the first twenty feet at a single rush. Then it grew precipitous, and the ascent demanded greater circumspection and intelligence. There were few hand- or footholds: he had to reflect before every step. On the other hand, it was sound rock, and he was no novice at the sport. Branchspell glared full on the wall, so that it half blinded him with its glittering whiteness.

After many doubts and pauses he drew near the top. He was hot, sweating copiously, and rather dizzy. To reach a ledge he caught hold of two projecting rocks, one with each hand, at the same time scrambling upward, his legs between the rocks. The left-hand rock, which was the larger of the two, became dislodged by his weight, and, flying like a huge, dark shadow past his head, crashed down with a terrifying sound to the foot of the precipice, followed by an avalanche of smaller stones. Maskull steadied himself as well as he could, but it was some moments before he dared to look down behind him.

At first he could not distinguish Leehallfae. Then he caught sight of legs and hindquarters a few feet up the cliff from the bottom. He perceived that the phaen had aer head in a cavity and was scrutinising something, and waited for aer to reappear.

Ae emerged, looked up to Maskull, and called out in aer hornlike voice, "The entrance is here!"

"I'm coming down!" roared Maskull. "Wait for me!"

He descended swiftly—without taking too much care, for he thought he recognised his "luck" in this discovery—and within twenty minutes was standing beside the phaen.

"What happened?"

"The rock you dislodged struck this other rock just above the spring. It tore it out of its bed. See—now there's room for us to get in!"

"Don't get excited!" said Maskull. "It's a remarkable accident, but we have plenty of time. Let me look."

He peered into the hole, which was large enough to admit a big man without stooping. Contrasted with the daylight outside it was dark, yet a peculiar glow pervaded the place, and he could see well enough. A rock tunnel went straight forward into the bowels of the hill, out of sight. The valley brook did not flow along the floor of this tunnel, as he had expected, but came up as a spring just inside the entrance.

"Well Leehallfae, not much need to deliberate, eh? Still, observe that your stream parts company with us here."

As he turned around for an answer he noticed that his companion was trembling from head to foot.

"Why, what's the matter?"

Leehallfae pressed a hand to aer heart. "The stream leaves us, but what makes the stream what it is continues with us. Faceny is there."

"But surely you don't expect to see him in person? Why are you shaking?"

"Perhaps it will be too much for me after all."

"Why? How is it affecting you?"

The phaen took him by the shoulder and held him at arm's length, endeavouring to study him with aer unsteady eyes. "Faceny's thoughts are obscure. I am his lover, you are a lover of women, yet he grants to you what he denies to me."

"What does he grant to me?"

"To see him, and go on living. I shall die. But it's immaterial. Tomorrow both of us will be dead."

Maskull impatiently shook himself free. "Your sensations may be reliable in your own case, but how do you know I shall die?"

"Life is flaming up inside you," replied Leehallfae, shaking aer head. "But after it has reached its climax—perhaps tonight—it will sink rapidly and you'll die tomorrow. As for me, if I enter Threal I shan't come out again. A smell of death is being wafted to me out of this hole."

"You talk like a frightened man. I smell nothing."

"I am not frightened," said Leehallfae quietly—ae had been gradually recovering aer tranquillity—"but when one has lived as long as I have, it is a serious matter to die. Every year one puts out new roots."

"Decide what you're going to do," said Maskull with a touch of contempt, "for I'm going in at once."

The phaen gave an odd, meditative stare down the ravine, and after that walked into the cavern without another word. Maskull, scratching his head, followed close at aer heels.

The moment they stepped across the bubbling spring, the atmosphere altered. Without becoming stale or unpleasant, it grew cold, clear and refined, and somehow suggested austere and tomblike thoughts. The daylight disappeared at the first bend in the tunnel. After that, Maskull could not say where the light came from. The air itself must have been luminous, for though it was as light as full moon on Earth, neither he nor Leehallfae cast a shadow. Another peculiarity of the light was that both the walls of the tunnel and their own bodies appeared colourless. Everything was black and white, like a lunar landscape. This intensified the solemn, funereal feelings created by the atmosphere.

After they had proceeded for about ten minutes, the tunnel began to widen out. The roof was high above their heads, and six men could have walked side by side. Leehallfae was visibly weakening. Ae dragged aerself along slowly and painfully, with sunken head.

Maskull caught hold of aer. "You can't go on like that. Better let me take you back."

The phaen smiled, and staggered. "I'm dying."

"Don't talk like that. It's only a passing indisposition. Let me take you back to the daylight."

"No, help me forward. I wish to see Faceny."

"The sick must have their way," said Maskull. Lifting aer bodily in his arms, he walked quickly along for another hundred yards or so. They then emerged from the tunnel and faced a world the parallel of which he had never set eyes upon before.

"Set me down!" directed Leehallfae feebly. "Here I'll die."

Maskull obeyed, and laid aer down at full length on the rocky ground. The phaen raised aerself with difficulty on one arm, and stared with fast-glazing eyes at the mystic landscape.

Maskull looked too, and what he saw was a vast, undulating plain, lighted as if by the moon—but there was of course no moon, and there were no shadows. He made out running streams in the distance. Beside them were trees of a peculiar kind; they were rooted in the ground, but the branches also were aerial roots, and there were no leaves. No other plants could be seen. The soil was soft, porous rock, resembling pumice. Beyond a mile or two in any direction the light merged into obscurity. At their back a great rocky wall extended on either hand; but it was not square like a wall, but full of bays and promontories like an indented line of sea cliffs. The roof of this huge underworld was out of sight. Here and there a mighty shaft of naked rock, fantastically weathered, towered aloft into the gloom, doubtless serving to support the roof. There were no colours—every detail of the landscape was black, white, or grey. The scene appeared so still, so solemn and religious, that all his feelings quieted down to absolute tranquillity.

Leehallfae fell back suddenly. Maskull dropped on his knees, and helplessly watched the last flickerings of aer spirit, going out like a candle in foul air. Death came.... He closed the eyes. The awful grin of Crystalman immediately fastened upon the phaen's dead features.

While Maskull was still kneeling, he became conscious of someone standing beside him. He looked up quickly and saw a man, but did not at once rise.

"Another phaen dead," said the newcomer in a grave, toneless, and intellectual voice.

Maskull got up.

The man was short and thickset but emaciated. His forehead was not disfigured by any organs. He was middle-aged. The features were energetic and rather coarse—yet it seemed to Maskull as though a pure, hard life had done something toward refining them. His sanguine eyes carried a twisted, puzzled look; some unanswerable problem was apparently in the forefront of his brain. His face was hairless; the hair of his head was short and manly; his brow was wide. He was clothed in a black, sleeveless robe, and bore a long staff in his hand. There was an air of cleanness and austerity about the whole man that was attractive.

He went on speaking dispassionately to Maskull, and, while doing so, kept passing his hand reflectively over his cheeks and chin. "They all find their way here to die. They come from Matterplay. There they live to an incredible age. Partly on that account, and partly because of their spontaneous origin, they regard themselves as the favoured children of Faceny. But when they come here to find him, they die at once."

"I think this one is the last of the race. But whom do I speak to?"

"I am Corpang. Who are you, where do you come from, and what are you doing here?"

"My name is Maskull. My home is on the other side of the universe. As for what I am doing here—I accompanied Leehallfae, that phaen, from Matterplay."

"But a man doesn't accompany a phaen out of friendship. What do you want in Threal?"

"Then this is Threal?"

"Yes."

Maskull remained silent.

Corpang studied his face with rough, curious eyes. "Are you ignorant, or merely reticent, Maskull?"

"I came here to ask questions, and not to answer them."

The stillness of the place was almost oppressive. Not a breeze stirred, and not a sound came through the air. Their voices had been lowered, as though they were in a cathedral.

"Then do you want my society, or not?" asked Corpang.

"Yes, if you can fit in with my mood, which is—not to talk about myself."

"But you must at least tell me where you want to go to."

"I want to see what is to be seen here, and then go on to Lichstorm."

"I can guide you through, if that's all you want. Come, let us start."

"First let's do our duty and bury the dead, if possible."

"Turn around," directed Corpang.

Maskull looked around quickly. Leehallfae's body had disappeared.

"What does this mean—what has happened?"

"The body has returned to whence it came. There was nowhere here for it to be, so it has vanished. No burial will be required."

"Was the phaen an illusion, then?"

"In no sense."

"Well, explain quickly, then, what has taken place. I seem to be going mad."

"There's nothing unintelligible in it, if you'll only listen calmly. The phaen belonged, body and soul, to the outside, visible world—to Faceny. This underworld is not Faceny's world, but Thire's, and Faceny's creatures cannot breathe its atmosphere. As this applies not only to whole bodies, but even to the last particles of bodies, the phaen has dissolved into Nothingness."

"But don't you and I belong to the outside world too?"

"We belong to all three worlds."

"What three worlds—what do you mean?"

"There are three worlds," said Corpang composedly. "The first is Faceny's, the second is Amfuse's, the third is Thire's. From him Threal gets it name."

"But this is mere nomenclature. In what sense are there three worlds?"

Corpang passed his hand over his forehead. "All this we can discuss as we go along. It's a torment to me to be standing still."

Maskull stared again at the spot where Leehallfae's body had lain, quite bewildered at the extraordinary disappearance. He could scarcely tear himself away from the place, so mysterious was it. Not until Corpang called to him a second time did he make up his mind to follow him.

They set off from the rock wall straight across the airlit plain, directing their course toward the nearest trees. The subdued light, the absence of shadows, the massive shafts, springing grey-white out of the jetlike ground, the fantastic trees, the absence of a sky, the deathly silence, the knowledge that he was underground—the combination of all these things predisposed Maskull's mind to mysticism, and he prepared himself with some anxiety to hear Corpang's explanation of the land and its wonders. He already began to grasp that the reality of the outside world and the reality of this world were two quite different things.

"In what sense are there three worlds?" he demanded, repeating his former question.

Corpang smote the end of his staff on the ground. "First of all, Maskull, what is your motive for asking? If it's mere intellectual curiosity, tell me, for we mustn't play with awful matters."

"No, it isn't that," said Maskull slowly. "I'm not a student. My journey is no holiday tour."

"Isn't there blood on your soul?" asked Corpang, eying him intently.

The blood rose steadily to Maskull's face, but in that light it caused it to appear black.

"Unfortunately there is, and not a little."

The other's face was all wrinkles, but he made no comment.

"And so you see," went on Maskull, with a short laugh, "I'm in the very best condition for receiving your instruction."

Corpang still paused. "Underneath your crimes I see a man," he said, after a few minutes. "On that account, and because we are commanded to help one another, I won't leave you at present, though I little thought to be walking with a murderer.... Now to your question.... Whatever a man sees with his eyes, Maskull, he sees in three ways—length, breadth, depth. Length is existence, breadth is relation, depth is feeling."

"Something of the sort was told me by Earthrid, the musician, who came from Threal."

"I don't know him. What else did he tell you?"

"He went on to apply it to music. Continue, and pardon the interruption."

"These three states of perception are the three worlds. Existence is Faceny's world, relation is Amfuse's world, feeling is Thire's world."

"Can't we come down to hard facts?" said Maskull, frowning. "I understand no more than I did before what you mean by three worlds."

"There are no harder facts than the ones I am giving you. The first world is visible, tangible Nature. It was created by Faceny out of nothingness, and therefore we call it Existence."

"That I understand."

"The second world is Love—by which I don't mean lust. Without love, every individual would be entirely self-centred and unable deliberately to act on others. Without love, there would be no sympathy—not even hatred, anger, or revenge would be possible. These are all imperfect and distorted forms of pure love. Interpenetrating Faceny's world of Nature, therefore, we have Amfuse's world of Love, or Relation."

"What grounds have you for assuming that this so-called second world is not contained in the first?"

"They are contradictory. A natural man lives for himself; a lover lives for others."

"It may be so. It's rather mystical. But go on—who is Thire?"

"Length and breadth together without depth give flatness. Life and love without feeling produce shallow, superficial natures. Feeling is the need of men to stretch out toward their creator."

"You mean prayer and worship?"

"I mean intimacy with Thire. This feeling is not to be found in either the first or second world, therefore it is a third world. Just as depth is the line between object and subject, feeling is the line between Thire and man."

"But what is Thire himself?"

"Thire is the afterworld."

"I still don't understand," said Maskull. "Do you believe in three separate gods, or are these merely three ways of regarding one God?"

"There are three gods, for they are mutually antagonistic. Yet they are somehow united."

Maskull reflected a while. "How have you arrived at these conclusions?"

"None other are possible in Threal, Maskull."

"Why in Threal—what is there peculiar here?"

"I will show you presently."

They walked on for above a mile in silence, while Maskull digested what had been said. When they came to the first trees, which grew along the banks of a small stream of transparent water, Corpang halted.

"That bandage around your forehead has long been unnecessary," he remarked.

Maskull removed it. He found that the line of his brow was smooth and uninterrupted, as it had never yet been since his arrival in Tormance.

"How has this come about—and how did you know it?"

"They were Faceny's organs. They have vanished, just as the phaen's body vanished."

Maskull kept rubbing his forehead. "I feel more human without them. But why isn't the rest of my body affected?"

"Because its living will contains the element of Thire."

"Why are we stopping here?"

Corpang broke off the tip of one of the aerial roots of a tree, and proffered it to him. "Eat this, Maskull."

"For food, or something else?"

"Food for body and soul."

Maskull bit into the root. It was white and hard; its white sap was bleeding. It had no taste, but after eating it, he experienced a change of perception. The landscape, without alteration of light or outline, became several degrees more stern and sacred. When he looked at Corpang he was impressed by his aspect of Gothic awfulness, but the perplexed expression was still in his eyes.

"Do you spend all your time here, Corpang?"

"Occasionally I go above, but not often."

"What fastens you to this gloomy world?"

"The search for Thire."

"Then it's still a search?"

"Let us walk on."

As they resumed their journey across the dim, gradually rising plain, the conversation became even more earnest in character than before. "Although I was not born here," proceeded Corpang, "I've lived here for twenty-five years, and during all that time I have been drawing nearer to Thire, as I hope. But there is this peculiarity about it—the first stages are richer in fruit and more promising than the later ones. The longer a man seeks Thire, the more he seems to absent himself. In the beginning he is felt and known, sometimes as a shape, sometimes as a voice, sometimes an overpowering emotion. Later on all is dry, dark, and harsh in the soul. Then you would think that Thire was a million miles off."

"How do you explain that?"

"When everything is darkest, he may be nearest, Maskull."

"But this is troubling you?"

"My days are spent in torture."

"You still persist, though? This day darkness can't be the ultimate state?"

"My questions will be answered."

A silence ensued.

"What do you propose to show me?" asked Maskull.

"The land is about to grow wilder. I am taking you to the Three Figures, which were carved and erected by an earlier race of men. There, we will pray."

"And what then?"

"If you are truehearted, you will see things you will not easily forget."

They had been walking slightly uphill in a sort of trough between two parallel, gently sloping downs. The trough now deepened, while the hills on either side grew steeper. They were in an ascending valley and, as it curved this way and that, the landscape was shut off from view. They came to a little spring, bubbling up from the ground. It formed a trickling brook, which was unlike all other brooks in that it was flowing up the valley instead of down. Before long it was joined by other miniature rivulets, so that in the end it became a fair-sized stream. Maskull kept looking at it, and puckering his forehead.

"Nature has other laws here, it seems?"

"Nothing can exist here that is not a compound of the three worlds."

"Yet the water is flowing somewhere."

"I can't explain it, but there are three wills in it."

"Is there no such thing as pure Thire-matter?"

"Thire cannot exist without Amfuse, and Amfuse cannot exist without Faceny."

Maskull thought this over for some minutes. "That must be so," he said at last. "Without life there can be no love, and without love there can be no religious feeling."

In the half light of the land, the tops of the hills containing the valley presently attained such a height that they could not be seen. The sides were steep and craggy, while the bed of the valley grew narrower at every step. Not a living organism was visible. All was unnatural and sepulchral.

Maskull said, "I feel as if I were dead, and walking in another world."

"I still do not know what you are doing here," answered Corpang.

"Why should I go on making a mystery of it? I came to find Surtur."

"That name I've heard—but under what circumstances?"

"You forget?"

Corpang walked along, his eyes fixed on the ground, obviously troubled. "Who is Surtur?"

Maskull shook his head, and said nothing.

The valley shortly afterward narrowed, so that the two men, touching fingertips in the middle, could have placed their free hands on the rock walls on either side. It threatened to terminate in a cul-de-sac, but just when the road seemed least promising, and they were shut in by cliffs on all sides, a hitherto unperceived bend brought them suddenly into the open. They emerged through a mere crack in the line of precipices.

A sort of huge natural corridor was running along at right angles to the way they had come; both ends faded into obscurity after a few hundred yards. Right down the centre of this corridor ran a chasm with perpendicular sides; its width varied from thirty to a hundred feet, but its bottom could not be seen. On both sides of the chasm, facing one another, were platforms of rock, twenty feet or so in width; they too proceeded in both directions out of sight. Maskull and Corpang emerged onto one of these platforms. The shelf opposite was a few feet higher than that on which they stood. The platforms were backed by a double line of lofty and unclimbable cliffs, whose tops were invisible.

The stream, which had accompanied them through the gap, went straight forward, but, instead of descending the wall of the chasm as a waterfall, it crossed from side to side like a liquid bridge. It then disappeared through a cleft in the cliffs on the opposite side.

To Maskull's mind, however, even more wonderful than this unnatural phenomenon was the absence of shadows, which was more noticeable here than on the open plain. It made the place look like a hall of phantoms.

Corpang, without delay, led the way along the shelf to the left. When they had walked about a mile, the gulf widened to two hundred feet. Three large rocks loomed up on the ledge opposite; they resembled three upright giants, standing motionless side by side on the extreme edge of the chasm. Corpang and Maskull drew nearer, and then Maskull saw that they were statues. Each was about thirty feet high, and the workmanship was of the rudest. They represented naked men, but the limbs and trunks had been barely chipped into shape—the faces alone had had care bestowed on them, and even these faces were merely generalised. It was obviously the work of primitive artists. The statues stood erect with knees closed and arms hanging straight down their sides. All three were exactly alike.

As soon as they were directly opposite, Corpang halted.

"Is this a representation of your three Beings?" asked Maskull, awed by the spectacle in spite of his constitutional audacity.

"Ask no questions, but kneel," replied Corpang. He dropped onto his own knees, but Maskull remained standing.

Corpang covered his eyes with one hand, and prayed silently. After a few minutes the light sensibly faded. Then Maskull knelt as well, but he continued looking.

It grew darker and darker, until all was like the blackest night. Sight and sound no longer existed; he was alone with his own spirit.

Then one of the three Colossi came slowly into sight again. But it had ceased to be a statue—it was a living person. Out of the blackness of space a gigantic head and chest emerged, illuminated by a mystic, rosy glow, like a mountain peak bathed by the rising sun. As the light grew stronger Maskull saw that the flesh was translucent and that the glow came from within. The limbs of the apparition were wreathed in mist.

Before long the features of the face stood out distinctly. It was that of a beardless youth of twenty years. It possessed the beauty of a girl and the daring force of a man; it bore a mocking, cryptic smile. Maskull felt the fresh, mysterious thrill of mingled pain and rapture of one who awakes from a deep sleep in midwinter and sees the gleaming, dark, delicate colours of the half-dawn. The vision smiled, kept still, and looked beyond him. He began to shudder, with delight—and many emotions. As he gazed, his poetic sensibility acquired such a nervous and indefinable character that he could endure it no more; he burst into tears.

When he looked up again the image had nearly disappeared, and in a few moments more he was plunged back into total darkness.

Shortly afterward a second statue reappeared. It too was transfigured into a living form, but Maskull was unable to see the details of its face and body, because of the brightness of the light that radiated from them. This light, which started as pale gold, ended as flaming golden fire. It illumined the whole underground landscape. The rock ledges, the cliffs, himself and Corpang on their knees, the two unlighted statues—all appeared as if in sunlight, and the shadows were black and strongly defined. The light carried heat with it, but a singular heat. Maskull was unaware of any rise in temperature, but he felt his heart melting to womanish softness. His male arrogance and egotism faded imperceptibly away; his personality seemed to disappear. What was left behind was not freedom of spirit or lightheartedness, but a passionate and nearly savage mental state of pity and distress. He felt a tormenting desire to serve. All this came from the heat of the statue, and was without an object. He glanced anxiously around him, and fastened his eyes on Corpang. He put a hand on his shoulder and aroused him from his praying.

"You must know what I am feeling, Corpang."

Corpang smiled sweetly, but said nothing.

"I care nothing for my own affairs any more. How can I help you?"

"So much the better for you, Maskull, if you respond so quickly to the invisible worlds."

As soon as he had spoken, the figure began to vanish, and the light to die away from the landscape. Maskull's emotion slowly subsided, but it was not until he was once more in complete darkness that he became master of himself again. Then he felt ashamed of his boyish exhibition of enthusiasm, and thought ruefully that there must be something wanting in his character. He got up onto his feet.

The very moment that he arose, a man's voice sounded, not a yard from his ear. It was hardly raised above a whisper, but he could distinguish that it was not Corpang's. As he listened he was unable to prevent himself from physically trembling.

"Maskull, you are to die," said the unseen speaker.

"Who is speaking?"

"You have only a few hours of life left. Don't trifle the time away."

Maskull could bring nothing out.

"You have despised life," went on the low-toned voice. "Do you really imagine that this mighty world has no meaning, and that life is a joke?"

"What must I do?"

"Repent your murders, commit no fresh ones, pay honour to..."

The voice died away. Maskull waited in silence for it to speak again. All remained still, however, and the speaker appeared to have taken his departure. Supernatural horror seized him; he fell into a sort of catalepsy.

At that moment he saw one of the statues fading away, from a pale, white glow to darkness. He had not previously seen it shining.

In a few more minutes the normal light of the land returned. Corpang got up, and shook him out of his trance.

Maskull looked around, but saw no third person. "Whose statue was the last?" he demanded.

"Did you hear me speaking?"

"I heard your voice, but no one else's."

"I've just had my death foretold, so I suppose I have not long to live. Leehallfae prophesied the same thing."

Corpang shook his head. "What value do you set on life?" he asked.

"Very little. But it's a fearful thing all the same."

"Your death is?"

"No, but this warning."

They stopped talking. A profound silence reigned. Neither of the two men seemed to know what to do next, or where to go. Then both of them heard the sound of drumming. It was slow, emphatic, and impressive, a long way off and not loud, but against the background of quietness, very marked. It appeared to come from some point out of sight, to the left of where they were standing, but on the same rock shelf. Maskull's heart beat quickly.

"What can that sound be?" asked Corpang, peering into the obscurity.

"It is Surtur."

"Once again, who is Surtur?"

Maskull clutched his arm and pressed him to silence. A strange radiance was in the air, in the direction of the drumming. It increased in intensity and gradually occupied the whole scene. Things were no longer seen by Thire's light, but by this new light. It cast no shadows.

Corpang's nostrils swelled, and he held himself more proudly. "What fire is that?"

"It is Muspel-light."

They both glanced instinctively at the three statues. In the strange glow they had undergone a change. The face of each figure was clothed in the sordid and horrible Crystalman mask.

Corpang cried out and put his hand over his eyes. "What can this mean?" he asked a minute later.

"It must mean that life is wrong, and the creator of life too, whether he is one person or three."

Corpang looked again, like a man trying to accustom himself to a shocking sight. "Dare we believe this?"

"You must," replied Maskull. "You have always served the highest, and you must continue to do so. It has simply turned out that Thire is not the highest."

Corpang's face became swollen with a kind of coarse anger. "Life is clearly false—I have been seeking Thire for a lifetime, and now I find—this."

"You have nothing to reproach yourself with. Crystalman has had eternity to practice his cunning in, so it's no wonder if a man can't see straight, even with the best intentions. What have you decided to do?"

"The drumming seems to be moving away. Will you follow it, Maskull?"

"Yes."

"But where will it take us?"

"Perhaps out of Threal altogether."

"It sounds to me more real than reality," said Corpang. "Tell me, who is Surtur?"

"Surtur's world, or Muspel, we are told, is the original of which this world is a distorted copy. Crystalman is life, but Surtur is other than life."

"How do you know this?"

"It has sprung together somehow—from inspiration, from experience, from conversation with the wise men of your planet. Every hour it grows truer for me and takes a more definite shape."

Corpang stood up squarely, facing the three Figures with a harsh, energetic countenance, stamped all over with resolution. "I believe you, Maskull. No better proof is required than that. Thire is not the highest; he is even in a certain sense the lowest. Nothing but the thoroughly false and base could stoop to such deceits.... I am coming with you—but don't play the traitor. These signs may be for you, and not for me at all, and if you leave me—"

"I make no promises. I don't ask you to come with me. If you prefer to stay in your little world, or if you have any doubts about it, you had better not come."

"Don't talk like that. I shall never forget your service to me... Let us make haste, or we shall lose the sound."

Corpang started off more eagerly than Maskull. They walked fast in the direction of the drumming. For upward of two miles the path went along the ledge without any change of level. The mysterious radiance gradually departed, and was replaced by the normal light of Threal. The rhythmical beats continued, but a very long way ahead—neither was able to diminish the distance.

"What kind of man are you?" Corpang suddenly broke out.

"In what respect?"

"How do you come to be on such terms with the Invisible? How is it that I've never had this experience before I met you, in spite of my never-ending prayers and mortifications? In what way are you superior to me?"

"To hear voices perhaps can't be made a profession," replied Maskull. "I have a simple and unoccupied mind—that may be why I sometimes hear things that up to the present you have not been able to."

Corpang darkened, and kept silent; and then Maskull saw through to his pride.

The ledge presently began to rise. They were high above the platform on the opposite side of the gulf. The road then curved sharply to the right, and they passed over the abyss and the other ledge as by a bridge, coming out upon the top of the opposite cliffs. A new line of precipices immediately confronted them. They followed the drumming along the base of these heights, but as they were passing the mouth of a large cave the sound came from its recesses, and they turned their steps inward.

"This leads to the outer world," remarked Corpang. "I've occasionally been there by this passage."

"Then that's where it is taking us, no doubt. I confess I shan't be sorry to see sunlight once more."

"Can you find time to think of sunlight?" asked Corpang with a rough smile.

"I love the sun, and perhaps I'm rather lacking in the spirit of a zealot."

"Yet, for all that, you may get there before me."

"Don't be bitter," said Maskull. "I'll tell you another thing. Muspel can't be willed, for the simple reason that Muspel does not concern the will. To will is a property of this world."

"Then what is your journey for?"

"It's one thing to walk to a destination, and to linger over the walk, and quite another to run there at top speed."

"Perhaps I'm not so easily deceived as you think," said Corpang with another smile.

The light persisted in the cave. The path narrowed and became a steep ascent. Then the angle became one of forty-five degrees, and they had to climb. The tunnel grew so confined that Maskull was reminded of the confined dreams of his childhood.

Not long afterward, daylight appeared. They hastened to complete the last stage. Maskull rushed out first into the world of colours and, all dirty and bleeding from numerous scratches, stood blinking on a hillside, bathed in the brilliant late-afternoon sunshine. Corpang followed closely at his heels, He was obliged to shield his eyes with his hands for a few minutes, so unaccustomed was he to Branchspell's blinding rays.

"The drum beats have stopped!" he exclaimed suddenly.

"You can't expect music all the time," answered Maskull dryly. "We mustn't be luxurious."

"But now we have no guide. We're no better off than before."

"Well, Tormance is a big place. But I have an infallible rule, Corpang. As I come from the south, I always go due north."

"That will take us to Lichstorm."

Maskull gazed at the fantastically piled rocks all around them. "I saw these rocks from Matterplay. The mountains look as far off now as they did them, and there's not much of the day left. How far is Lichstorm from here?"

Corpang looked away to the distant range. "I don't know, but unless a miracle happens we shan't get there tonight."

"I have a feeling," said Maskull, "that we shall not only get there tonight, but that tonight will be the most important in my life."

And he sat down passively to rest.



Chapter 18. HAUNTE

While Maskull sat, Corpang walked restlessly to and fro, swinging his arms. He had lost his staff. His face was inflamed with suppressed impatience, which accentuated its natural coarseness. At last he stopped short in front of Maskull and looked down at him. "What do you intend to do?"

Maskull glanced up and idly waved his hand toward the distant mountains. "Since we can't walk, we must wait."

"For what?"

"I don't know... How's this, though? Those peaks have changed colour, from red to green."

"Yes, the lich wind is travelling this way."

"The lich wind?"

"It's the atmosphere of Lichstorm. It always clings to the mountains, but when the wind blows from the north it comes as far as Threal."

"It's a sort of fog, then?"

"A peculiar sort, for they say it excites the sexual passions."

"So we are to have lovemaking," said Maskull, laughing.

"Perhaps you won't find it so joyous," replied Corpang a little grimly.

"But tell me—these peaks, how do they preserve their balance?"

Corpang gazed at the distant, overhanging summits, which were fast fading into obscurity.

"Passion keeps them from falling."

Maskull laughed again; he was feeling a strange disturbance of spirit. "What, the love of rock for rock?"

"It is comical, but true."

"We'll take a closer peep at them presently. Beyond the mountains is Barey, is it not?"

"Yes."

"And then the Ocean. But what is the name of that Ocean?"

"That is told only to those who die beside it."

"Is the secret so precious, Corpang?"

Branchspell was nearing the horizon in the west; there were more than two hours of daylight remaining. The air all around them became murky. It was a thin mist, neither damp nor cold. The Lichstorm Range now appeared only as a blur on the sky. The air was electric and tingling, and was exciting in its effect. Maskull felt a sort of emotional inflammation, as though a very slight external cause would serve to overturn his self-control. Corpang stood silent with a mouth like iron.

Maskull kept looking toward a high pile of rocks in the vicinity.

"That seems to me a good watchtower. Perhaps we shall see something from the top."

Without waiting for his companion's opinion, he began to scramble up the tower, and in a few minutes was standing on the summit. Corpang joined him.

From their viewpoint they saw the whole countryside sloping down to the sea, which appeared as a mere flash of far-off, glittering water. Leaving all that, however, Maskull's eyes immediately fastened themselves on a small, boat-shaped object, about two miles away, which was travelling rapidly toward them, suspended only a few feet in the air.

"What do you make of that?" he asked in a tone of astonishment.

Corpang shook his head and said nothing.

Within two minutes the flying object, whatever it was, had diminished the distance between them by one half. It resembled a boat more and more, but its flight was erratic, rather than smooth; its nose was continually jerking upward and downward, and from side to side. Maskull now made out a man sitting in the stern, and what looked like a large dead animal lying amidships. As the aerial craft drew nearer, he observed a thick, blue haze underneath it, and a similar haze behind, but the front, facing them, was clear.

"Here must be what we are waiting for, Corpang. But what on earth carries it?"

He stroked his beard contemplatively, and then, fearing that they had not been seen, stepped onto the highest rock, bellowed loudly, and made wild motions with his arm. The flying-boat, which was only a few hundred yards distant, slightly altered its course, now heading toward them in a way that left no doubt that the steersman had detected their presence.

The boat slackened speed until it was travelling no faster than a walking man, but the irregularity of its movements continued. It was shaped rather queerly. About twenty feet long, its straight sides tapered off from a flat bow, four feet broad, to a sharp-angled stern. The flat bottom was not above ten feet from the ground. It was undecked, and carried only one living occupant; the other object they had distinguished was really the carcass of an animal, of about the size of a large sheep. The blue haze trailing behind the boat appeared to emanate from the glittering point of a short upright pole fastened in the stem. When the craft was within a few feet of them, and they were looking down at it in wonder from above, the man removed this pole and covered the brightly shining tip with a cap. The forward motion then ceased altogether, and the boat began to drift hither and thither, but still it remained suspended in the air, while the haze underneath persisted. Finally the broad side came gently up against the pile of rocks on which they were standing. The steersman jumped ashore and immediately clambered up to meet them.

Maskull offered him a hand, but he refused it disdainfully. He was a young man, of middle height. He wore a close-fitting fur garment. His limbs were quite ordinary, but his trunk was disproportionately long, and he had the biggest and deepest chest that Maskull had ever seen in a man. His hairless face was sharp, pointed, and ugly, with protruding teeth, and a spiteful, grinning expression. His eyes and brows sloped upward. On his forehead was an organ which looked as though it had been mutilated—it was a mere disagreeable stump of flesh. His hair was short and thin. Maskull could not name the colour of his skin, but it seemed to stand in the same relation to jale as green to red.

Once up, the stranger stood for a minute or two, scrutinising the two companions through half-closed lids, all the time smiling insolently. Maskull was all eagerness to exchange words, but did not care to be the first to speak. Corpang stood moodily, a little in the background.

"What men are you?" demanded the aerial navigator at last. His voice was extremely loud, and possessed a most unpleasant timbre. It sounded to Maskull like a large volume of air trying to force its way through a narrow orifice.

"I am Maskull; my friend is Corpang. He comes from Threal, but where I come from, don't ask."

"I am Haunte, from Sarclash."

"Where may that be?"

"Half an hour ago I could have shown it to you, but now it has got too murky. It is a mountain in Lichstorm."

"Are you returning there now?"

"Yes."

"And how long will it take to get there in that boat?"

"Two—three hours."

"Will it accommodate us too?"

"What, are you for Lichstorm as well? What can you want there?"

"To see the sights," responded Maskull with twinkling eyes. "But first of all, to dine. I can't remember having eaten all day. You seem to have been hunting to some purpose, so we won't lack for food."

Haunte eyed him quizzically. "You certainly don't lack impudence. However, I'm a man of that sort myself, and it is the sort I prefer. Your friend, now, would probably rather starve than ask a meal of a stranger. He looks to me just like a bewildered toad dragged up out of a dark hole."

Maskull took Corpang's arm, and constrained him to silence.

"Where have you been hunting, Haunte?"

"Matterplay. I had the worst luck—I speared one wold horse, and there it lies."

"What is Lichstorm like?"

"There are men there, and there are women there, but there are no men-women, as with you."

"What do you call men-women?"

"Persons of mixed sex, like yourself. In Lichstorm the sexes are pure."

"I have always regarded myself as a man."

"Very likely you have; but the test is, do you hate and fear women?"

"Why, do you?"

Haunte grinned and showed his teeth. "Things are different in Lichstorm.... So you want to see the sights?"

"I confess I am curious to see your women, for example, after what you say."

"Then I'll introduce you to Sullenbode."

He paused a moment after making this remark, and then suddenly uttered a great, bass laugh, so that his chest shook.

"Let us share the joke," said Maskull.

"Oh, you'll understand it later."

"If you play pranks with me, I won't stand on ceremony with you."

Haunte laughed again. "I won't be the one to play pranks. Sullenbode will be deeply obliged to me. If I don't visit her myself as often as she would like, I'm always glad to serve her in other ways.... Well, you shall have your boat ride."

Maskull rubbed his nose doubtfully. "If the sexes hate one another in your land, is it because passion is weaker, or stronger?"

"In other parts of the world there is soft passion, but in Lichstorm there is hard passion."

"But what do you call hard passion?"

"Where men are called to women by pain, and not pleasure."

"I intend to understand, before I've finished."

"Yes," answered Haunte, with a taunting look, "it would be a pity to let the chance slip, since you're going to Lichstorm."

It was now Corpang's turn to take Maskull by the arm. "This journey will end badly."

"Why so?"

"Your goal was Muspel a short while ago; now it is women."

"Let me alone," said Maskull. "Give luck a slack rein. What brought this boat here?"

"What is this talk about Muspel?" demanded Haunte.

Corpang caught his shoulder roughly, and stared straight into his eyes. "What do you know?"

"Not much, but something, perhaps. Ask me at supper. Now it is high time to start. Navigating the mountains by night isn't child's play, let me tell you."

"I shall not forget," said Corpang.

Maskull gazed down at the boat. "Are we to get in?"

"Gently, my friend. It's only canework and skin."

"First of all, you might enlighten me as to how you have contrived to dispense with the laws of gravitation."

Haunte smiled sarcastically. "A secret in your ear, Maskull. All laws are female. A true male is an outlaw—outside the law."

"I don't understand."

"The great body of the earth is continually giving out female particles, and the male parts of rocks and living bodies are equally continually trying to reach them. That's gravitation."

"Then how do you manage with your boat?"

"My two male stones do the work. The one underneath the boat prevents it from falling to the ground; the one in the stem shuts it off from solid objects in the rear. The only part of the boat attracted by any part of the earth is the bow, for that's the only part the light of the male stones does not fall on. So in that direction the boat travels."

"And what are these wondrous male stones?"

"They really are male stones. There is nothing female in them; they are showering out male sparks all the time. These sparks devour all the female particles rising from the earth. No female particles are left over to attract the male parts of the boat, and so they are not in the least attracted in that direction."

Maskull ruminated for a minute.

"With your hunting, and boatbuilding, and science, you seem a very handy, skilful fellow, Haunte.... But the sun's sinking, and we'd better start."

"Get down first, then, and shift that carcass farther forward. Then you and your gloomy friend can sit amidships."

Maskull immediately climbed down, and dropped himself into the boat; but then he received a surprise. The moment he stood on the frail bottom, still clinging to the rock, not only did his weight entirely disappear, as though he were floating in some heavy medium, like salt water, but the rock he held onto drew him, as by a mild current of electricity, and he was able to withdraw his hands only with difficulty.

After the first moment's shock, he quietly accepted the new order of things, and set about shifting the carcass. Since there was no weight in the boat this was effected without any great labour. Corpang then descended. The astonishing physical change had no power to disturb his settled composure, which was founded on moral ideas. Haunte came last; grasping the staff which held the upper male stone, he proceeded to erect it, after removing the cap. Maskull then obtained his first near view of the mysterious light, which, by counteracting the forces of Nature, acted indirectly not only as elevator but as motive force. In the last ruddy gleams of the great sun, its rays were obscured, and it looked little more impressive than an extremely brilliant, scintillating blue-white jewel, but its power could be gauged by the visible, coloured mist that it threw out for many yards around.

The steering was effected by means of a shutter attached by a cord to the top of the staff, which could be so manipulated that any segment of the male stone's rays, or all the rays, or none at all, could be shut off at will. No sooner was the staff raised than the aerial vessel quietly detached itself from the rock to which it had been drawn, and passed slowly forward in the direction of the mountains. Branchspell sank below the horizon. The gathering mist blotted out everything outside a radius of a few miles. The air grew cool and fresh.

Soon the rock masses ceased on the great, rising plain. Haunte withdrew the shutter entirely, and the boat gathered full speed.

"You say that navigation among the mountains is difficult at night," exclaimed Maskull. "I would have thought it impossible."

Haunte grunted. "You will have to take risks, and think yourself fortunate if you come off with nothing worse than a cracked skull. But one thing I can tell you—if you go on disturbing me with your chitchat we shan't get as far as the mountains."

Thereafter Maskull was silent.

The twilight deepened; the murk grew denser. There was little to look at, but much to feel. The motion of the boat, which was due to the never-ending struggle between the male stones and the force of gravitation, resembled in an exaggerated fashion the violent tossing of a small craft on a choppy sea. The two passengers became unhappy. Haunte, from his seat in the stern, gazed at them sardonically with one eye. The darkness now came on rapidly.

About ninety minutes after the commencement of the voyage they arrived at the foothills of Lichstorm. They began to mount. There was no daylight left to see by. Beneath them, however, on both sides of them and in the rear, the landscape was lighted up for a considerable distance by the now vivid blue rays of the twin male stones. Ahead, where these rays did not shine, Haunte was guided by the self-luminous nature of the rocks, grass, and trees. These were faintly phosphorescent; the vegetation shone out more strongly than the soil.

The moon was not shining and there were no stars; Maskull therefore inferred that the upper atmosphere was dense with mist. Once or twice, from his sensations of choking, he thought that they were entering a fogbank, but it was a strange kind of fog, for it had the effect of doubling the intensity of every light in front of them. Whenever this happened, nightmare feelings attacked him; he experienced transitory, unreasoning fright and horror.

Now they passed high above the valley that separated the foothills from the mountains themselves. The boat began an ascent of many thousands of feet and, as the cliffs were near, Haunte had to manoeuvre carefully with the rear light in order to keep clear of them. Maskull watched the delicacy of his movements, not without admiration. A long time went by. It grew much colder; the air was damp and drafty. The fog began to deposit something like snow on their persons. Maskull kept sweating with terror, not because of the danger they were in, but because of the cloud banks that continued to envelop them.

They cleared the first line of precipices. Still mounting, but this time with a forward motion, as could be seen by the vapours illuminated by the male stones through which they passed, they were soon altogether out of sight of solid ground. Suddenly and quite unexpectedly the moon broke through. In the upper atmosphere thick masses of fog were seen crawling hither and thither, broken in many places by thin rifts of sky, through one of which Teargeld was shining. Below them, to their left, a gigantic peak, glittering with green ice, showed itself for a few seconds, and was then swallowed up again. All the rest of the world was hidden by the mist. The moon went in again. Maskull had seen quite enough to make him long for the aerial voyage to end.

The light from the male stones presently illuminated the face of a new cliff. It was grand, rugged, and perpendicular. Upward, downward, and on both sides, it faded imperceptibly into the night. After coasting it a little way, they observed a shelf of rock jutting out. It was square, measuring about a dozen feet each way. Green snow covered it to a depth of some inches. Immediately behind it was a dark slit in the rock, which promised to be the mouth of a cave.

Haunte skilfully landed the boat on this platform. Standing up, he raised the staff bearing the keel light and lowered the other; then removed both male stones, which he continued to hold in his hand. His face was thrown into strong relief by the vivid, sparkling blue-white rays. It looked rather surly.

"Do we get out?" inquired Maskull.

"Yes. I live here."

"Thanks for the successful end of a dangerous journey."

"Yes, it has been touch-and-go."

Corpang jumped onto the platform. He was smiling coarsely. "There has been no danger, for our destinies lie elsewhere. You are merely a ferryman, Haunte."

"Is that so?" returned Haunte, with a most unpleasant laugh. "I thought I was carrying men, not gods."

"Where are we?" asked Maskull. As he spoke, he got out, but Haunte remained standing a minute in the boat.

"This is Sarclash—the second highest mountain in the land."

"Which is the highest, then?"

"Adage. Between Sarclash and Adage there is a long ridge—very difficult in places. About halfway along the ridge, at the lowest point, lies the top of the Mornstab Pass, which goes through to Barey. Now you know the lay of the land."

"Does the woman Sullenbode live near here?"

"Near enough." Haunte grinned.

He leaped out of the boat and, pushing past the others without ceremony, walked straight into the cave.

Maskull followed, with Corpang at his heels. A few stone steps led to a doorway, curtained by the skin of some large beast. Their host pushed his way in, never offering to hold the skin aside for them. Maskull made no comment, but grabbed it with his fist and tugged it away from its fastenings to the ground. Haunte looked at the skin, and then stared hard at Maskull with his disagreeable smile, but neither said anything.

The place in which they found themselves was a large oblong cavern, with walls, floor, and ceiling of natural rock. There were two doorways: that by which they had entered, and another of smaller size directly opposite. The cave was cold and cheerless; a damp draft passed from door to door. Many skins of wild animals lay scattered on the ground. A number of lumps of sun-dried flesh were hanging on a string along the wall, and a few bulging liquor skins reposed in a corner. There were tusks, horns, and bones everywhere. Resting against the wall were two short hunting spears, having beautiful crystal heads.

Haunte set down the two male stones on the ground, near the farther door; their light illuminated the whole cave. He then walked over to the meat and, snatching a large piece, began to gnaw it ravenously.

"Are we invited to the feast?" asked Maskull.

Haunte pointed to the hanging flesh and to the liquor skins, but did not pause in his chewing.

"Where's a cup?" inquired Maskull, lifting one of the skins.

Haunte indicated a clay goblet lying on the floor. Maskull picked it up, undid the neck of the skin, and, resting it under his arm, filled the cup. Tasting the liquor, he discovered it to be raw spirit. He tossed off the draught, and then felt much better.

The second cupful he proffered to Corpang. The latter took a single sip, swallowed it, and then passed the cup back without a word. He refused to drink again, as long as they were in the cave. Maskull finished the cup, and began to throw off care.

Going to the meat line, he took down a large double handful, and sat down on a pile of skins to eat at his ease. The flesh was tough and coarse, but he had never tasted anything sweeter. He could not understand the flavour, which was not surprising in a world of strange animals. The meal proceeded in silence. Corpang ate sparingly, standing up, and afterward lay down on a bundle of furs. His bold eyes watched all the movements of the other two. Haunte had not drunk as yet.

At last Maskull concluded his meal. He emptied another cup, sighed pleasantly, and prepared to talk.

"Now explain further about your women, Haunte."

Haunte fetched another skin of liquor and a second cup. He tore off the string with his teeth, and poured out and drank cup after cup in quick succession. Then he sat down, crossed his legs, and turned to Maskull.

"Well?"

"So they are objectionable?"

"They are deadly."

"Deadly? In what way can they possibly be deadly?"

"You will learn. I was watching you in the boat, Maskull. You had some bad feelings, eh?"

"I don't conceal it. There were times when I felt as if I were struggling with a nightmare. What caused it?"

"The female atmosphere of Lichstorm. Sexual passion."

"I had no passion."

"That was passion—the first stage. Nature tickles your people into marriage, but it tortures us. Wait till you get outside. You'll have a return of those sensations—only ten times worse. The drink you've had will see to that.... How do you suppose it will all end?"

"If I knew, I wouldn't be asking you questions."

Haunte laughed loudly. "Sullenbode."

"You mean it will end in my seeking Sullenbode?"

"But what will come of it, Maskull? What will she give you? Sweet, fainting, white-armed, feminine voluptuousness?"

Maskull coolly drank another cup. "And why should she give all that to a passerby?"

"Well, as a matter of fact, she hasn't it to give. No, what she will give you, and what you'll accept from her, because you can't help it, is—anguish, insanity, possibly death."

"You may be talking sense, but it sounds like raving to me. Why should I accept insanity and death?"

"Because your passion will force you to."

"What about yourself?" Maskull asked, biting his nails.

"Oh, I have my male stones. I am immune."

"Is that all that prevents you from being like other men?"

"Yes, but don't attempt any tricks, Maskull."

Maskull went on drinking steadily, and said nothing for a time. "So men and women here are hostile to each other, and love is unknown?" he proceeded at last.

"That magic word.... Shall I tell you what love is, Maskull? Love between male and female is impossible. When Maskull loves a woman, it is Maskull's female ancestors who are loving her. But here in this land the men are pure males. They have drawn nothing from the female side."

"Where do the male stones come from?"

"Oh, they are not freaks. There must be whole beds of the stuff somewhere. It is all that prevents the world from being a pure female world. It would be one big mass of heavy sweetness, without individual shapes."

"Yet this same sweetness is torturing to men?"

"The life of an absolute male is fierce. An excess of life is dangerous to the body. How can it be anything else than torturing?"

Corpang now sat up suddenly, and addressed Haunte. "I remind you of your promise to tell about Muspel."

Haunte regarded him with a malevolent smile. "Ha! The underground man has come to life."

"Yes, tell us," put in Maskull carelessly.

Haunte drank, and laughed a little. "Well, the tale's short, and hardly worth telling, but since you're interested.... A stranger came here five years ago, inquiring after Muspel-light. His name was Lodd. He came from the east. He came up to me one bright morning in summer, outside this very cave. If you ask me to describe him—I can't imagine a second man like him. He looked so proud, noble, superior, that I felt my own blood to be dirty by comparison. You can guess I don't have this feeling for everyone. Now that I am recalling him, he was not so much superior as different. I was so impressed that I rose and talked to him standing. He inquired the direction of the mountain Adage. He went on to say, 'They say Muspel-light is sometimes seen there. What do you know of such a thing?' I told him the truth—that I knew nothing about it, and then he went on, 'Well, I am going to Adage. And tell those who come after me on the same errand that they had better do the same thing.' That was the whole conversation. He started on his way, and I've never seen him or heard of him since."

"So you didn't have the curiosity to follow him?"

"No, because the moment he had turned his back all my interest in the man somehow seemed to vanish."

"Probably because he was useless to you."

Corpang glanced at Maskull. "Our road is marked out for us."

"So it would appear," said Maskull indifferently.

The talk flagged for a time. Maskull felt the silence oppressive, and grew restless.

"What do you call the colour of your skin, Haunte, as I saw it in daylight? It struck me as strange."

"Dolm," said Haunte.

"A compound of ulfire and blue," explained Corpang.

"Now I know. These colours are puzzling for a stranger."

"What colours have you in your world?" asked Corpang.

"Only three primary ones, but here you seem to have five, though how it comes about I can't imagine."

"There are two sets of three primary colours here," said Corpang, "but as one of the colours—blue—is identical in both sets, altogether there are five primary colours."

"Why two sets?"

"Produced by the two suns. Branchspell produces blue, yellow, and red; Alppain, ulfire, blue, and jale."

"It's remarkable that explanation has never occurred to me before."

"So here you have another illustration of the necessary trinity of nature. Blue is existence. It is darkness seen through light; a contrasting of existence and nothingness. Yellow is relation. In yellow light we see the relation of objects in the clearest way. Red is feeling. When we see red, we are thrown back on our personal feelings.... As regards the Alppain colours, blue stands in the middle and is therefore not existence, but relation. Ulfire is existence; so it must be a different sort of existence."

Haunte yawned. "There are marvellous philosophers in your underground hole."

Maskull got up and looked about him.

"Where does that other door lead to?"

"Better explore," said Haunte.

Maskull took him at his word, and strolled across the cave, flinging the curtain aside and disappearing into the night. Haunte rose abruptly and hurried after him.

Corpang too got to his feet. He went over to the untouched spirit skins, untied the necks, and allowed the contents to gush out on to the floor. Next he took the hunting spears, and snapped off the points between his hands. Before he had time to resume his seat, Haunte and Maskull reappeared. The host's quick, shifty eyes at once took in what had happened. He smiled, and turned pale.

"You haven't been idle, friend."

Corpang fixed Haunte with his bold, heavy gaze. "I thought it well to draw your teeth."

Maskull burst out laughing. "The toad's come into the light to some purpose, Haunte. Who would have expected it?"

Haunte, after staring hard at Corpang for two or three minutes, suddenly uttered a strange cry, like an evil spirit, and flung himself upon him. The two men began to wrestle like wildcats. They were as often on the floor as on their legs, and Maskull could not see who was getting the better of it. He made no attempt to separate them. A thought came into his head and, snatching up the two male stones, he ran with them, laughing, through the upper doorway, into the open night air.

The door overlooked an abyss on another face of the mountain. A narrow ledge, sprinkled with green snow, wound along the cliff to the right; it was the only available path. He pitched the pebbles over the edge of the chasm. Although hard and heavy in his hand, they sank more like feathers than stones, and left a long trail of vapour behind. While Maskull was still watching them disappear, Haunte came rushing out of the cavern, followed by Corpang. He gripped Maskull's arm excitedly.

"What in Krag's name have you done?"

"Overboard they have gone," replied Maskull, renewing his laughter.

"You accursed madman!"

Haunte's luminous colour came and went, just as though his internal light were breathing. Then he grew suddenly calm, by a supreme exertion of his will.

"You know this kills me?"

"Haven't you been doing your best this last hour to make me ripe for Sullenbode? Well then, cheer up, and join the pleasure party!"

"You say it as a joke, but it is the miserable truth."

Haunte's jeering malevolence had completely vanished. He looked a sick man—yet somehow his face had become nobler.

"I would be very sorry for you, Haunte, if it did not entail my being also very sorry for myself. We are now all three together on the same errand—which doesn't appear to have struck you yet."

"But why this errand at all?" asked Corpang quietly. "Can't you men exercise self-control till you have arrived out of danger?"

Haunte fixed him with wild eyes. "No. The phantoms come trooping in on me already."

He sat down moodily, but the next minute was up again.

"And I cannot wait.... the game is started."

Soon afterward, by silent consent, they began to walk the ledge, Haunte in front. It was narrow, ascending, and slippery, so that extreme caution was demanded. The way was lighted by the self-luminous snow and rocks.

When they had covered about half a mile, Maskull, who went second of the party, staggered, caught the cliff, and finally sat down.

"The drink works. My old sensations are returning, but worse."

Haunte turned back. "Then you are a doomed man."

Maskull, though fully conscious of his companions and situation, imagined that he was being oppressed by a black, shapeless, supernatural being, who was trying to clasp him. He was filled with horror, trembled violently, yet could not move a limb. Sweat tumbled off his face in great drops. The waking nightmare lasted a long time, but during that space it kept coming and going. At one moment the vision seemed on the point of departing; the next it almost took shape—which he knew would be his death. Suddenly it vanished altogether—he was free. A fresh spring breeze fanned his face; he heard the slow, solitary singing of a sweet bird; and it seemed to him as if a poem had shot together in his soul. Such flashing, heartbreaking joy he had never experienced before in all his life! Almost immediately that too vanished.

Sitting up, he passed his hand across his eyes and swayed quietly, like one who has been visited by an angel.

"Your colour changed to white," said Corpang. "What happened?"

"I passed through torture to love," replied Maskull simply.

He stood up. Haunte gazed at him sombrely. "Will you not describe that passage?"

Maskull answered slowly and thoughtfully. "When I was in Matterplay, I saw heavy clouds discharge themselves and change to coloured, living animals. In the same way, my black, chaotic pangs just now seemed to consolidate themselves and spring together as a new sort of joy. The joy would not have been possible without the preliminary nightmare. It is not accidental; Nature intends it so. The truth has just flashed through my brain.... You men of Lichstorm don't go far enough. You stop at the pangs, Without realising that they are birth pangs."

"If this is true, you are a great pioneer," muttered Haunte.

"How does this sensation differ from common love?" interrogated Corpang.

"This was all that love is, multiplied by wildness."

Corpang fingered his chin awhile. "The Lichstorm men, however, will never reach this stage, for they are too masculine."

Haunte turned pale. "Why should we alone suffer?"

"Nature is freakish and cruel, and doesn't act according to justice.... Follow us, Haunte, and escape from it all."

"I'll see," muttered Haunte. "Perhaps I will."

"Have we far to go, to Sullenbode?" inquired Maskull.

"No, her home's under the hanging cap of Sarclash."

"What is to happen tonight?" Maskull spoke to himself, but Haunte answered him.

"Don't expect anything pleasant, in spite of what has just occurred. She is not a woman, but a mass of pure sex. Your passion will draw her out into human shape, but only for a moment. If the change were permanent, you would have endowed her with a soul."

"Perhaps the change might be made permanent."

"To do that, it is not enough to desire her; she must desire you as well. But why should she desire you?"

"Nothing turns out as one expects," said Maskull, shaking his head. "We had better get on again."

They resumed the journey. The ledge still rose, but, on turning a corner of the cliff, Haunte quitted it and began to climb a steep gully, which mounted directly to the upper heights. Here they were compelled to use both hands and feet. Maskull thought all the while of nothing but the overwhelming sweetness he had just experienced.

The flat ground on top was dry and springy. There was no more snow, and bright plants appeared. Haunte turned sharply to the left.

"This must be under the cap," said Maskull.

"It is; and within five minutes you will see Sullenbode."

When he spoke his words, Maskull's lips surprised him by their tender sensitiveness. Their action against each other sent thrills throughout his body.

The grass shone dimly. A huge tree, with glowing branches, came into sight. It bore a multitude of red fruit, like hanging lanterns, but no leaves. Underneath this tree Sullenbode was sitting. Her beautiful light—a mingling of jale and white—gleamed softly through the darkness. She sat erect, on crossed legs, asleep. She was clothed in a singular skin garment, which started as a cloak thrown over one shoulder, and ended as loose breeches terminating above the knees. Her forearms were lightly folded, and in one hand she held a half-eaten fruit.