The Lusion Plain
: A Voyage To ArcturusMaskull awoke before the others. He got up, stretched himself, and
walked out into the sunlight. Branchspell was already declining. He
climbed to the top of the crater edge and looked away toward Ifdawn. The
afterglow of Alppain had by now completely disappeared. The mountains
stood up wild and grand.
They impressed him like a simple musical theme, the notes of which
are widely separated in the scale; a s
adventure seemed to call to him from them. It was at that moment that
the determination flashed into his heart to walk to the Marest and
explore its dangers.
He returned to the cavern to say good-by to his hosts.
Joiwind looked at him with her brave and honest eyes. "Is this
selfishness, Maskull?" she asked, "or are you drawn by something
stronger than yourself?"
"We must be reasonable," he answered, smiling. "I can't settle down in
Poolingdred before I have found out something about this surprising
new planet of yours. Remember what a long way I have come.... But very
likely I shall come back here."
"Will you make me a promise?"
Maskull hesitated. "Ask nothing difficult, for I hardly know my powers
yet."
"It is not hard, and I wish it. Promise this--never to raise your hand
against a living creature, either to strike, pluck, or eat, without
first recollecting its mother, who suffered for it."
"Perhaps I won't promise that," said Maskull slowly, "but I'll undertake
something more tangible. I will never lift my hand against a living
creature without first recollecting you, Joiwind."
She turned a little pale. "Now if Panawe knew that Panawe existed, he
might be jealous."
Panawe put his hand on her gently. "You would not talk like that in
Shaping's presence," he said.
"No. Forgive me! I'm not quite myself. Perhaps it is Maskull's blood in
my veins.... Now let us bid him adieu. Let us pray that he will do only
honourable deeds, wherever he may be."
"I'll set Maskull on his way," said Panawe.
"There's no need," replied Maskull. "The way is plain."
"But talking shortens the road."
Maskull turned to go.
Joiwind pulled him around toward her softly. "You won't think badly of
other women on my account?"
"You are a blessed spirit," answered he.
She trod quietly to the inner extremity of the cave and stood there
thinking. Panawe and Maskull emerged into the open air. Halfway down the
cliff face a little spring was encountered. Its water was colourless,
transparent, but gaseous. As soon as Maskull had satisfied his thirst
he felt himself different. His surroundings were so real to him in their
vividness and colour, so unreal in their phantom-like mystery, that he
scrambled downhill like one in a winter's dream.
When they reached the plain he saw in front of them an interminable
forest of tall trees, the shapes of which were extraordinarily foreign
looking. The leaves were crystalline and, looking upward, it was as if
he were gazing through a roof of glass. The moment they got underneath
the trees the light rays of the sun continued to come through--white,
savage, and blazing--but they were gelded of heat. Then it was not hard
to imagine that they were wandering through cool, bright elfin glades.
Through the forest, beginning at their very feet an avenue, perfectly
straight and not very wide, went forward as far as the eye could see.
Maskull wanted to talk to his travelling companion, but was somehow
unable to find words. Panawe glanced at him with an inscrutable
smile--stern, yet enchanting and half feminine. He then broke the
silence, but, strangely enough, Maskull could not make out whether he
was singing or speaking. From his lips issued a slow musical
recitative, exactly like a bewitching adagio from a low toned stringed
instrument--but there was a difference. Instead of the repetition and
variation of one or two short themes, as in music, Panawe's theme was
prolonged--it never came to an end, but rather resembled a conversation
in rhythm and melody. And, at the same time, it was no recitative, for
it was not declamatory. It was a long, quiet stream of lovely emotion.
Maskull listened entranced, yet agitated. The song, if it might be
termed song, seemed to be always just on the point of becoming clear and
intelligible--not with the intelligibility of words, but in the way one
sympathises with another's moods and feelings; and Maskull felt that
something important was about to be uttered, which would explain
all that had gone before. But it was invariably postponed, he never
understood--and yet somehow he did understand.
Late in the afternoon they came to a clearing, and there Panawe ceased
his recitative. He slowed his pace and stopped, in the fashion of a man
who wishes to convey that he intends to go no farther.
"What is the name of this country?" asked Maskull.
"It is the Lusion Plain."
"Was that music in the nature of a temptation--do you wish me not to go
on?"
"Your work lies before you, and not behind you."
"What was it, then? What work do you allude to?"
"It must have seemed like something to you, Maskull."
"It seemed like Shaping music to me."
The instant he had absently uttered these words, Maskull wondered why he
had done so, as they now appeared meaningless to him.
Panawe, however, showed no surprise. "Shaping you will find everywhere."
"Am I dreaming, or awake?"
"You are awake."
Maskull fell into deep thought. "So be it," he said, rousing himself.
"Now I will go on. But where must I sleep tonight?"
"You will reach a broad river. On that you can travel to the foot of the
Marest tomorrow; but tonight you had better sleep where the forest and
river meet."
"Adieu, then, Panawe! But do you wish to say anything more to me?"
"Only this, Maskull--wherever you go, help to make the world beautiful,
and not ugly."
"That's more than any of us can undertake. I am a simple man, and have
no ambitions in the way of beautifying life--But tell Joiwind I will try
to keep myself pure."
They parted rather coldly. Maskull stood erect where they had stopped,
and watched Panawe out of sight. He sighed more than once.
He became aware that something was about to happen. The air was
breathless. The late-afternoon sunshine, unobstructed, wrapped his frame
in voluptuous heat. A solitary cloud, immensely high, raced through the
sky overhead.
A single trumpet note sounded in the far distance from somewhere behind
him. It gave him an impression of being several miles away at first; but
then it slowly swelled, and came nearer and nearer at the same time that
it increased in volume. Still the same note sounded, but now it was
as if blown by a giant trumpeter immediately over his head. Then it
gradually diminished in force, and travelled away in front of him. It
ended very faintly and distantly.
He felt himself alone with Nature. A sacred stillness came over his
heart. Past and future were forgotten. The forest, the sun, the day did
not exist for him. He was unconscious of himself--he had no thoughts and
no feelings. Yet never had Life had such an altitude for him.
A man stood, with crossed arms, right in his path. He was so clothed
that his limbs were exposed, while his body was covered. He was young
rather than old. Maskull observed that his countenance possessed none
of the special organs of Tormance, to which he had not even yet become
reconciled. He was smooth-faced. His whole person seemed to radiate an
excess of life, like the trembling of air on a hot day. His eyes had
such force that Maskull could not meet them.
He addressed Maskull by name, in an extraordinary voice. It had a double
tone. The primary one sounded far away; the second was an undertone,
like a sympathetic tanging string.
Maskull felt a rising joy, as he continued standing in the presence of
this individual. He believed that something good was happening to him.
He found it physically difficult to bring any words out. "Why do you
stop me?"
"Maskull, look well at me. Who am I?"
"I think you are Shaping."
"I am Surtur."
Maskull again attempted to meet his eyes, but felt as if he were being
stabbed.
"You know that this is my world. Why do you think I have brought you
here? I wish you to serve me."
Maskull could no longer speak.
"Those who joke at my world," continued the vision, "those who make a
mock of its stern, eternal rhythm, its beauty and sublimity, which
are not skin-deep, but proceed from fathomless roots--they shall not
escape."
"I do not mock it."
"Ask me your questions, and I will answer them."
"I have nothing."
"It is necessary for you to serve me, Maskull. Do you not understand?
You are my servant and helper."
"I shall not fail."
"This is for my sake, and not for yours."
These last words had no sooner left Surtur's mouth than Maskull saw him
spring suddenly upward and outward. Looking up at the vault of the sky,
he saw the whole expanse of vision filled by Surtur's form--not as
a concrete man, but as a vast, concave cloud image, looking down and
frowning at him. Then the spectacle vanished, as a light goes out.
Maskull stood inactive, with a thumping heart. Now he again heard the
solitary trumpet note. The sound began this time faintly in the far
distance in front of him, travelled slowly toward him with regularly
increasing intensity, passed overhead at its loudest, and then grew
more and more quiet, wonderful, and solemn, as it fell away in the rear,
until the note was merged in the deathlike silence of the forest. It
appeared to Maskull like the closing of a marvellous and important
chapter.
Simultaneously with the fading away of the sound, the heavens seemed to
open up with the rapidity of lightning into a blue vault of immeasurable
height. He breathed a great breath, stretched all his limbs, and looked
around him with a slow smile.
After a while he resumed his journey. His brain was all dark and
confused, but one idea was already beginning to stand out from the
rest--huge, shapeless, and grand, like the growing image in the soul of
a creative artist: the staggering thought that he was a man of destiny.
The more he reflected upon all that had occurred since his arrival in
this new world--and even before leaving Earth--the clearer and more
indisputable it became, that he could not be here for his own purposes,
but must be here for an end. But what that end was, he could not
imagine.
Through the forest he saw Branchspell at last sinking in the west. It
looked a stupendous ball of red fire--now he could realise at his ease
what a sun it was! The avenue took an abrupt turn to the left and began
to descend steeply.
A wide, rolling river of clear and dark water was visible in front of
him, no great way off. It flowed from north to south. The forest path
led him straight to its banks. Maskull stood there, and regarded the
lapping, gurgling waters pensively. On the opposite bank, the forest
continued. Miles to the south, Poolingdred could just be distinguished.
On the northern skyline the Ifdawn Mountains loomed up--high, wild,
beautiful, and dangerous. They were not a dozen miles away.
Like the first mutterings of a thunderstorm, the first faint breaths of
cool wind, Maskull felt the stirrings of passion in his heart. In
spite of his bodily fatigue, he wished to test his strength against
something. This craving he identified with the crags of the Marest. They
seemed to have the same magical attraction for his will as the lodestone
for iron. He kept biting his nails, as he turned his eyes in that
direction--wondering if it would not be possible to conquer the
heights that evening. But when he glanced back again at Poolingdred,
he remembered Joiwind and Panawe, and grew more tranquil. He decided to
make his bed at this spot, and to set off as soon after daybreak as he
should awake.
He drank at the river, washed himself, and lay down on the bank to
sleep. By this time, so far had his idea progressed, that he cared
nothing for the possible dangers of the night--he confided in his star.
Branchspell set, the day faded, night with its terrible weight came on,
and through it all Maskull slept. Long before midnight, however, he was
awakened by a crimson glow in the sky. He opened his eyes, and wondered
where he was. He felt heaviness and pain. The red glow was a terrestrial
phenomenon; it came from among the trees. He got up and went toward the
source of the light.
Away from the river, not a hundred feet off, he nearly stumbled across
the form of a sleeping woman. The object which emitted the crimson rays
was lying on the ground, several yards away from her. It was like a
small jewel, throwing off sparks of red light. He barely threw a glance
at that, however.
The woman was clothed in the large skin of an animal. She had big,
smooth, shapely limbs, rather muscular than fat. Her magn was not a thin
tentacle, but a third arm, terminating in a hand. Her face, which was
upturned, was wild, powerful, and exceedingly handsome. But he saw with
surprise that in place of a breve on her forehead, she possessed another
eye. All three were closed. The colour of her skin in the crimson glow
he could not distinguish.
He touched her gently with his hand. She awoke calmly and looked up at
him without stirring a muscle. All three eyes stared at him; but the two
lower ones were dull and vacant--mere carriers of vision. The middle,
upper one alone expressed her inner nature. Its haughty, unflinching
glare had yet something seductive and alluring in it. Maskull felt
a challenge in that look of lordly, feminine will, and his manner
instinctively stiffened.
She sat up.
"Can you speak my language?" he asked. "I wouldn't put such a question,
but others have been able to."
"Why should you imagine that I can't read your mind? Is it so extremely
complex?"
She spoke in a rich, lingering, musical voice, which delighted him to
listen to.
"No, but you have no breve."
"Well, but haven't I a sorb, which is better?" And she pointed to the
eye on her brow.
"What is your name?"
"Oceaxe."
"And where do you come from?"
"Ifdawn."
These contemptuous replies began to irritate him, and yet the mere sound
of her voice was fascinating.
"I am going there tomorrow," he remarked.
She laughed, as if against her will, but made no comment.
"My name is Maskull," he went on. "I am a stranger--from another world."
"So I should judge, from your absurd appearance."
"Perhaps it would be as well to say at once," said Maskull bluntly, "are
we, or are we not, to be friends?"
She yawned and stretched her arms, without rising. "Why should we be
friends? If I thought you were a man, I might accept you as a lover."
"You must look elsewhere for that."
"So be it, Maskull! Now go away, and leave me in peace."
She dropped her head again to the ground, but did not at once close her
eyes.
"What are you doing here?" he interrogated.
"Oh, we Ifdawn folk occasionally come here to sleep, for there often
enough it is a night for us which has no next morning."
"Being such a terrible place, and seeing that I am a total stranger, it
would be merely courteous if you were to warn me what I have to expect
in the way of dangers."
"I am perfectly and utterly indifferent to what becomes of you,"
retorted Oceaxe.
"Are you returning in the morning?" persisted Maskull.
"If I wish."
"Then we will go together."
She got up again on her elbow. "Instead of making plans for other
people, I would do a very necessary thing."
"Pray, tell me."
"Well, there's no reason why I should, but I will. I would try to
convert my women's organs into men's organs. It is a man's country."
"Speak more plainly."
"Oh, it's plain enough. If you attempt to pass through Ifdawn without a
sorb, you are simply committing suicide. And that magn too is worse than
useless."
"You probably know what you are talking about, Oceaxe. But what do you
advise me to do?"
She negligently pointed to the light-emitting stone lying on the ground.
"There is the solution. If you hold that drude to your organs for a good
while, perhaps it will start the change, and perhaps nature will do the
rest during the night. I promise nothing."
Oceaxe now really turned her back on Maskull.
He considered for a few minutes, and then walked over and to where the
stone was lying, and took it in his hand. It was a pebble the size of a
hen's egg, radiant with crimson light, as though red-hot, and throwing
out a continuous shower of small, blood-red sparks.
Finally deciding that Oceaxe's advice was good, he applied the drude
first to his magn, and then to his breve. He experienced a cauterising
sensation--a feeling of healing pain.
More
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In the midst of the consternation his revelation had produced, Ernest began again to speak. "You have said, a dozen of you to-night, that socialism is impossible. You have asserted the impossible, now let me demonstrate the inevitable. Not only... The Measure Of A Man
What is desirable is not always necessary, while that which is necessary may be most undesirable. Perhaps the measure of a man is the ability to tell one from the other ... and act on it. Alfred Pendray pushed himsel... The Mediterranean In Forty-eight Hours
The Mediterranean, the blue sea par excellence, "the great sea" of the Hebrews, "the sea" of the Greeks, the "mare nostrum" of the Romans, bordered by orange-trees, aloes, cacti, and sea-pines; embalmed with the perfume of the myrtle, surrounded by ... The Meeting
Professor Newland and his family were living in seclusion in their Florida home at the time the Mercutian invaders landed in Wyoming. The curious events in Florida, which connected them so directly with the invasion and caused Alan later to play s... The Meeting At The Queen's Hall
The same night a vast meeting of medical men had been summoned at the Queen's Hall, with the object of discussing the nature of the strange visitation, and the measures that should be adopted. Doctors came from every part of the country. The meeti... The Meeting Of The Giants
"Check your blast, Fred, I think I hear something trying to come through!" Cleveland called out, sharply. For days the Boise had torn through the illimitable reaches of empty space, and now the long vigil of the keen-eared listeners was to be ende... The Meeting Of Titans
It is not my intention, nor is it possible no matter how interesting to me, to set down ad seriatim the happenings of the next twelve hours. But a few will not be denied recital. O'Keefe regained cheerfulness. "After all, Doc," he said to me, "... The Memory Of Mars
A reporter should be objective even about a hospital. It's his business to stir others' emotions and not let his own be stirred. But that was no good, Mel Hastings told himself. No good at all when it was Alice who was here somewhere, balanced u... The Menace Of The Dead
The night was still young when there came one to the entrance of the banquet hall where O-Tar of Manator dined with his chiefs, and brushing past the guards entered the great room with the insolence of a privileged character, as in truth he was. As ... The Mercutian Camp
As I saw Mercer fall to the floor of the porch a sudden rage swept over me. I struggled violently with the three men pinning me down. They appeared very much weaker than I, but even though I could break their holds the three of them were more than... The Message
Three years had passed since that first memorable visit to Doom the Forbidden--years of work and of growth. The simple out-door life and the physical toil had been good discipline for Constans, and he was now a well-built young fellow of two-and-t... The Minimificence Of Mr Bensington
I. It was while the Royal Commission on Boomfood was preparing its report that Herakleophorbia really began to demonstrate its capacity for leakage. And the earliness of this second outbreak was the more unfortunate, from the point of view of C... The Missing Asteroid
It had been a wild twelve hours since Tom Hunter's call to his brother from the Map Room in Sun Lake City. The Major had arrived first, still buttoning his shirt and wiping sleep from his eyes. Johnny and Greg came in on his heels. They had found ... The Mobilisation
Every day now brought fresh news, and the threatening spectre of war drew nearer and nearer. The order for mobilisation had been given. The field-troops were separated from the depot, destined to remain in Chanidigot. The infantry were provided wi... The Monk
THIS name revealed everything to the old overman. It was that of the last "monk" of the Dochart pit. In former days, before the invention of the safety-lamp, Simon had known this fierce man, whose business it was to go daily, at the risk of his ...