"Aren't you here to alter the evil to the good, Maskull? Then what does it matter who sent you?"

"What can you possibly know of good and evil?"

"Are you only instructing the initiated?"

"Who am I, to instruct anybody? However, you're quite right. I wish to do what I can—not because I am qualified, but because I am here."

Oceaxe's voice dropped to a whisper. "You're a giant, both in body and soul. What you want to do, you can do."

"Is that your honest opinion, or are you flattering me for your own ends?"

She sighed. "Don't you see how difficult you are making the conversation? Let's talk about your work, not about ourselves."

Maskull suddenly noticed a strange blue light glowing in the northern sky. It was from Alppain, but Alppain itself was behind the hills. While he was observing it, a peculiar wave of self-denial, of a disquieting nature, passed through him. He looked at Oceaxe, and it struck him for the first time that he was being unnecessarily brutal to her. He had forgotten that she was a woman, and defenceless.

"Won't you stay?" she asked all of a sudden, quite openly and frankly.

"Yes, I think I'll stay," he replied slowly. "And another thing, Oceaxe—if I've misjudged your character, pray forgive me. I'm a hasty, passionate man."

"There are enough easygoing men. Hard knocks are a good medicine for vicious hearts. And you didn't misjudge my character, as far as you went—only, every woman has more than one character. Don't you know that?"

During the pause that followed, a snapping of twigs was heard, and both looked around, startled. They saw a woman stepping slowly across the neck that separated them from the mainland.

"Tydomin," muttered Oceaxe, in a vexed, frightened voice. She immediately moved away from Maskull and stood up.

The newcomer was of middle height, very slight and graceful. She was no longer quite young. Her face wore the composure of a woman who knows her way about the world. It was intensely pale, and under its quiescence there just was a glimpse of something strange and dangerous. It was curiously alluring, though not exactly beautiful. Her hair was clustering and boyish, reaching only to the neck. It was of a strange indigo colour. She was quaintly attired in a tunic and breeches, pieced together from the square, blue-green plates of some reptile. Her small, ivory-white breasts were exposed. Her sorb was black and sad—rather contemplative.

Without once glancing up at Oceaxe and Maskull, she quietly glided straight toward Crimtyphon's corpse. When she arrived within a few feet of it, she stopped and looked down, with arms folded.

Oceaxe drew Maskull a little away, and whispered, "It's Crimtyphon's other wife, who lives under Disscourn. She's a most dangerous woman. Be careful what you say. If she asks you to do anything, refuse it outright."

"The poor soul looks harmless enough."

"Yes, she does—but the poor soul is quite capable of swallowing up Krag himself.... Now, play the man."

The murmur of their voices seemed to attract Tydomin's notice, for she now slowly turned her eyes toward them.

"Who killed him?" she demanded.

Her voice was so soft, low, and refined, that Maskull hardly was able to catch the words. The sounds, however, lingered in his ears, and curiously enough seemed to grow stronger, instead of fainter.

Oceaxe whispered, "Don't say a word, leave it all to me." Then she swung her body around to face Tydomin squarely, and said aloud, "I killed him."

Tydomin's words by this time were ringing in Maskull's head like an actual physical sound. There was no question of being able to ignore them; he had to make an open confession of his act, whatever the consequences might be. Quietly taking Oceaxe by the shoulder and putting her behind him, he said in a low, but perfectly distinct voice, "It was I that killed Crimtyphon."

Oceaxe looked both haughty and frightened. "Maskull says that so as to shield me, as he thinks. I require no shield, Maskull. I killed him, Tydomin."

"I believe you, Oceaxe. You did murder him. Not with your own strength, for you brought this man along for the purpose."

Maskull took a couple of steps toward Tydomin. "It's of little consequence who killed him, for he's better dead than alive, in my opinion. Still, I did it. Oceaxe had no hand in the affair."

Tydomin appeared not to hear him—she looked beyond him at Oceaxe musingly. "When you murdered him, didn't it occur to you that I would come here, to find out?"

"I never once thought of you," replied Oceaxe, with an angry laugh. "Do you really imagine that I carry your image with me wherever I go?"

"If someone were to murder your lover here, what would you do?"

"Lying hypocrite!" Oceaxe spat out. "You never were in love with Crimtyphon. You always hated me, and now you think it an excellent opportunity to make it good... now that Crimtyphon's gone.... For we both know he would have made a footstool of you, if I had asked him. He worshiped me, but he laughed at you. He thought you ugly."

Tydomin flashed a quick, gentle smile at Maskull. "Is it necessary for you to listen to all this?"

Without question, and feeling it the right thing to do, he walked away out of earshot.

Tydomin approached Oceaxe. "Perhaps because my beauty fades and I'm no longer young, I needed him all the more."

Oceaxe gave a kind of snarl. "Well, he's dead, and that's the end of it. What are you going to do now, Tydomin?"

The other woman smiled faintly and rather pathetically. "There's nothing left to do, except mourn the dead. You won't grudge me that last office?"

"Do you want to stay here?" demanded Oceaxe suspiciously.

"Yes, Oceaxe dear, I wish to be alone."

"Then what is to become of us?"

"I thought that you and your lover—what is his name?"

"Maskull."

"I thought that perhaps you two would go to Disscourn, and spend Blodsombre at my home."

Oceaxe called out aloud to Maskull, "Will you come with me now to Disscourn?"

"If you wish," returned Maskull.

"Go first, Oceaxe. I must question your friend about Crimtyphon's death. I won't keep him."

"Why don't you question me, rather?" demanded Oceaxe, looking up sharply.

Tydomin gave the shadow of a smile. "We know each other too well."

"Play no tricks!" said Oceaxe, and she turned to go.

"Surely you must be dreaming," said Tydomin. "That's the way—unless you want to walk over the cliffside."

The path Oceaxe had chosen led across the isthmus. The direction which Tydomin proposed for her was over the edge of the precipice, into empty space.

"Shaping! I must be mad," cried Oceaxe, with a laugh. And she obediently followed the other's finger.

She walked straight on toward the edge of the abyss, twenty paces away. Maskull pulled his beard around, and wondered what she was doing. Tydomin remained standing with outstretched finger, watching her. Without hesitation, without slackening her step once, Oceaxe strolled on—and when she had reached the extreme end of the land she still took one more step.

Maskull saw her limbs wrench as she stumbled over the edge. Her body disappeared, and as it did so an awful shriek sounded.

Disillusionment had come to her an instant too late. He tore himself out of his stupor, rushed to the edge of the cliff, threw himself on the ground recklessly, and looked over.... Oceaxe had vanished.

He continued staring wildly down for several minutes, and then began to sob. Tydomin came up to him, and he got to his feet.

The blood kept rushing to his face and leaving it again. It was some time before he could speak at all. Then he brought out the words with difficulty. "You shall pay for this, Tydomin. But first I want to hear why you did it."

"Hadn't I cause?" she asked, standing with downcast eyes.

"Was it pure fiendishness?"

"It was for Crimtyphon's sake."

"She had nothing to do with that death. I told you so."

"You are loyal to her, and I'm loyal to him."

"Loyal? You've made a terrible blunder. She wasn't my mistress. I killed Crimtyphon for quite another reason. She had absolutely no part in it."

"Wasn't she your lover?" asked Tydomin slowly.

"You've made a terrible mistake," repeated Maskull. "I killed him because he was a wild beast. She was as innocent of his death as you are."

Tydomin's face took on a hard look. "So you are guilty of two deaths."

There was a dreadful silence.

"Why couldn't you believe me?" asked Maskull, who was pale and sweating painfully.

"Who gave you the right to kill him?" demanded Tydomin sternly.

He said nothing, and perhaps did not hear her question.

She sighed two or three times and began to stir restlessly. "Since you murdered him, you must help me bury him."

"What's to be done? This is a most fearful crime."

"You art a most fearful man. Why did you come here, to do all this? What are we to you?"

"Unfortunately you are right."

Another pause ensued.

"It's no use standing here," said Tydomin. "Nothing can be done. You must come with me."

"Come with you? Where to?"

"To Disscourn. There's a burning lake on the far side of it. He always wished to be cast there after death. We can do that after Blodsombre—in the meantime we must take him home."

"You're a callous, heartless woman. Why should he be buried when that poor girl must remain unburied?"

"You know that's out of the question," replied Tydomin quietly.

Maskull's eyes roamed about agitatedly, apparently seeing nothing.

"We must do something," she continued. "I shall go. You can't wish to stay here alone?"

"No, I couldn't stay here—and why should I want to? You want me to carry the corpse?"

"He can't carry himself, and you murdered him. Perhaps it will ease your mind to carry it."

"Ease my mind?" said Maskull, rather stupidly.

"There's only one relief for remorse, and that's voluntary pain."

"And have you no remorse?" he asked, fixing her with a heavy eye.

"These crimes are yours, Maskull," she said in a low but incisive voice.

They walked over to Crimtyphon's body, and Maskull hoisted it on to his shoulders. It weighed heavier than he had thought. Tydomin did not offer to assist him to adjust the ghastly burden.

She crossed the isthmus, followed by Maskull. Their path lay through sunshine and shadow. Branchspell was blazing in a cloudless sky, the heat was insufferable—streams of sweat coursed down his face, and the corpse seemed to grow heavier and heavier. Tydomin always walked in front of him. His eyes were fastened in an unseeing stare on her white, womanish calves; he looked neither to right nor left. His features grew sullen. At the end of ten minutes he suddenly allowed his burden to slip off his shoulders on to the ground, where it lay sprawled every which way. He called out to Tydomin.

She quickly looked around.

"Come here. It has just occurred to me"—he laughed—"why should I be carrying this corpse—and why should I be following you at all? What surprises me is, why this has never struck me before."

She at once came back to him. "I suppose you're tired, Maskull. Let us sit down. Perhaps you have come a long way this morning?"

"Oh, it's not tiredness, but a sudden gleam of sense. Do you know of any reason why I should be acting as your porter?" He laughed again, but nevertheless sat down on the ground beside her.

Tydomin neither looked at him nor answered. Her head was half bent, so as to face the northern sky, where the Alppain light was still glowing. Maskull followed her gaze, and also watched the glow for a moment or two in silence.

"Why don't you speak?" he asked at last.

"What does that light suggest to you, Maskull?"

"I'm not speaking of that light."

"Doesn't it suggest anything at all?"

"Perhaps it doesn't. What does it matter?"

"Not sacrifice?"

Maskull grew sullen again. "Sacrifice of what? What do you mean?"

"Hasn't it entered your head yet," said Tydomin, looking straight in front of her, and speaking in her delicate, hard manner, "that this adventure of yours will scarcely come to an end until you have made some sort of sacrifice?"

He returned no answer, and she said nothing more. In a few minutes' time Maskull got up of his own accord, and irreverently, and almost angrily, threw Crimtyphon's corpse over his shoulder again.

"How far do we have to go?" he asked in a surly tone.

"An hour's walk."

"Lead on."

"Still, this isn't the sacrifice I mean," said Tydomin quietly, as she went on in front.

Almost immediately they reached more difficult ground. They had to pass from peak to peak, as from island to island. In some cases they were able to stride or jump across, but in others they had to make use of rude bridges of fallen timber. It appeared to be a frequented path. Underneath were the black, impenetrable abysses—on the surface were the glaring sunshine, the gay, painted rocks, the chaotic tangle of strange plants. There were countless reptiles and insects. The latter were thicker built than those of Earth—consequently still more disgusting, and some of them were of enormous size. One monstrous insect, as large as a horse, stood right in the centre of their path without budging. It was armour-plated, had jaws like scimitars, and underneath its body was a forest of legs. Tydomin gave one malignant look at it, and sent it crashing into the gulf.

"What have I to offer, except my life?" Maskull suddenly broke out. "And what good is that? It won't bring that poor girl back into the world."

"Sacrifice is not for utility. It's a penalty which we pay."

"I know that."

"The point is whether you can go on enjoying life, after what has happened."

She waited for Maskull to come even with her.

"Perhaps you imagine I'm not man enough—you imagine that because I allowed poor Oceaxe to die for me—"

"She did die for you," said Tydomin, in a quiet, emphatic voice.

"That would be a second blunder of yours," returned Maskull, just as firmly. "I was not in love with Oceaxe, and I'm not in love with life."

"Your life is not required."

"Then I don't understand what you want, or what you are speaking about."

"It's not for me to ask a sacrifice from you, Maskull. That would be compliance on your part, but not sacrifice. You must wait until you feel there's nothing else for you to do."

"It's all very mysterious."

The conversation was abruptly cut short by a prolonged and frightful crashing, roaring sound, coming from a short distance ahead. It was accompanied by a violent oscillation of the ground on which they stood. They looked up, startled, just in time to witness the final disappearance of a huge mass of forest land, not two hundred yards in front of them. Several acres of trees, plants, rocks, and soil, with all its teeming animal life, vanished before their eyes, like a magic story. The new chasm was cut, as if by a knife. Beyond its farther edge the Alppain glow burned blue just over the horizon.

"Now we shall have to make a detour," said Tydomin, halting.

Maskull caught hold of her with his third hand. "Listen to me, while I try to describe what I'm feeling. When I saw that landslip, everything I have heard about the last destruction of the world came into my mind. It seemed to me as if I were actually witnessing it, and that the world were really falling to pieces. Then, where the land was, we now have this empty, awful gulf—that's to say, nothing—and it seems to me as if our life will come to the same condition, where there was something there will be nothing. But that terrible blue glare on the opposite side is exactly like the eye of fate. It accuses us, and demands what we have made of our life, which is no more. At the same time, it is grand and joyful. The joy consists in this—that it is in our power to give freely what will later on be taken from us by force."

Tydomin watched him attentively. "Then your feeling is that your life is worthless, and you make a present of it to the first one who asks?"

"No, it goes beyond that. I feel that the only thing worth living for is to be so magnanimous that fate itself will be astonished at us. Understand me. It isn't cynicism, or bitterness, or despair, but heroism.... It's hard to explain."

"Now you shall hear what sacrifice I offer you, Maskull. It's a heavy one, but that's what you seem to wish."

"That is so. In my present mood it can't be too heavy."

"Then, if you are in earnest, resign your body to me. Now that Crimtyphon's dead, I'm tired of being a woman."

"I fail to comprehend."

"Listen, then. I wish to start a new existence in your body. I wish to be a male. I see it isn't worth while being a woman. I mean to dedicate my own body to Crimtyphon. I shall tie his body and mine together, and give them a common funeral in the burning lake. That's the sacrifice I offer you. As I said, it's a hard one."

"So you do ask me to die. Though how you can make use of my body is difficult to understand."

"No, I don't ask you to die. You will go on living."

"How is it possible without a body?"

Tydomin gazed at him earnestly. "There are many such beings, even in your world. There you call them spirits, apparitions, phantoms. They are in reality living wills, deprived of material bodies, always longing to act and enjoy, but quite unable to do so. Are you noble-minded enough to accept such a state, do you think?"

"If it's possible, I accept it," replied Maskull quietly. "Not in spite of its heaviness, but because of it. But how is it possible?"

"Undoubtedly there are very many things possible in our world of which you have no conception. Now let us wait till we get home. I don't hold you to your word, for unless it's a free sacrifice I will have nothing to do with it."

"I am not a man who speaks lightly. If you can perform this miracle, you have my consent, once for all."

"Then we'll leave it like that for the present," said Tydomin sadly.

They proceeded on their way. Owing to the subsidence, Tydomin seemed rather doubtful at first as to the right road, but by making a long divergence they eventually got around to the other side of the newly formed chasm. A little later on, in a narrow copse crowning a miniature, insulated peak, they fell in with a man. He was resting himself against a tree, and looked tired, overheated, and despondent. He was young. His beardless expression bore an expression of unusual sincerity, and in other respects he seemed a hardy, hardworking youth, of an intellectual type. His hair was thick, short, and flaxen. He possessed neither a sorb nor a third arm—so presumably he was not a native of Ifdawn. His forehead, however, was disfigured by what looked like a haphazard assortment of eyes, eight in number, of different sizes and shapes. They went in pairs, and whenever two were in use, it was indicated by a peculiar shining—the rest remained dull, until their turn came. In addition to the upper eyes he had the two lower ones, but they were vacant and lifeless. This extraordinary battery of eyes, alternatively alive and dead, gave the young man an appearance of almost alarming mental activity. He was wearing nothing but a sort of skin kilt. Maskull seemed somehow to recognise the face, though he had certainly never set eyes on it before.

Tydomin suggested to him to set down the corpse, and both sat down to rest in the shade.

"Question him, Maskull," she said, rather carelessly, jerking her head toward the stranger.

Maskull sighed and asked aloud, from his seat on the ground, "What's your name, and where do you come from?"

The man studied him for a few moments, first with one pair of eyes, then with another, then with a third. He next turned his attention to Tydomin, who occupied him a still longer time. He replied at last, in a dry, manly, nervous voice. "I am Digrung. I have arrived here from Matterplay." His colour kept changing, and Maskull suddenly realised of whom he reminded him. It was of Joiwind.

"Perhaps you're going to Poolingdred, Digrung?" he inquired, interested.

"As a matter of fact I am—if I can find my way out of this accursed country."

"Possibly you are acquainted with Joiwind there?"

"She's my sister. I'm on my way to see her now. Why, do you know her?"

"I met her yesterday."

"What is your name, then?"

"Maskull."

"I shall tell her I met you. This will be our first meeting for four years. Is she well, and happy?"

"Both, as far as I could judge. You know Panawe?"

"Her husband—yes. But where do you come from? I've seen nothing like you before."

"From another world. Where is Matterplay?"

"It's the first country one comes to beyond the Sinking Sea."

"What is it like there—how do you amuse yourselves? The same old murders and sudden deaths?"

"Are you ill?" asked Digrung. "Who is this woman, why are you following at her heels like a slave? She looks insane to me. What's that corpse—why are you dragging it around the country with you?"

Tydomin smiled. "I've already heard it said about Matterplay, that if one sows an answer there, a rich crop of questions immediately springs up. But why do you make this unprovoked attack on me, Digrung?"

"I don't attack you, woman, but I know you. I see into you, and I see insanity. That wouldn't matter, but I don't like to see a man of intelligence like Maskull caught in your filthy meshes."

"I suppose even you clever Matterplay people sometimes misjudge character. However, I don't mind. Your opinion's nothing to me, Digrung. You'd better answer his questions, Maskull. Not for his own sake—but your feminine friend is sure to be curious about your having been seen carrying a dead man."

Maskull's underlip shot out. "Tell your sister nothing, Digrung. Don't mention my name at all. I don't want her to know about this meeting of ours."

"Why not?"

"I don't wish it—isn't that enough?"

Digrung looked impassive.

"Thoughts and words," he said, "which don't correspond with the real events of the world are considered most shameful in Matterplay."

"I'm not asking you to lie, only to keep silent."

"To hide the truth is a special branch of lying. I can't accede to your wish. I must tell Joiwind everything, as far as I know it."

Maskull got up, and Tydomin followed his example.

She touched Digrung on the arm and gave him a strange look. "The dead man is my husband, and Maskull murdered him. Now you'll understand why he wishes you to hold your tongue."

"I guessed there was some foul play," said Digrung. "It doesn't matter—I can't falsify facts. Joiwind must know."

"You refuse to consider her feelings?" said Maskull, turning pale.

"Feelings which flourish on illusions, and sicken and die on realities, aren't worth considering. But Joiwind's are not of that kind."

"If you decline to do what I ask, at least return home without seeing her; your sister will get very little pleasure out of the meeting when she hears your news."

"What are these strange relations between you?" demanded Digrung, eying him with suddenly aroused suspicion.

Maskull stared back in a sort of bewilderment. "Good God! You don't doubt your own sister. That pure angel!"

Tydomin caught hold of him delicately. "I don't know Joiwind, but, whoever she is and whatever she's like, I know this—she's more fortunate in her friend than in her brother. Now, if you really value her happiness, Maskull, you will have to take some firm step or other."

"I mean to. Digrung, I shall stop your journey."

"If you intend a second murder, no doubt you are big enough."

Maskull turned around to Tydomin and laughed. "I seem to be leaving a wake of corpses behind me on this journey."

"Why a corpse? There's no need to kill him."

"Thanks for that!" said Digrung dryly. "All the same, some crime is about to burst. I feel it."

"What must I do, then?" asked Maskull.

"It is not my business, and to tell the truth I am not very interested.... If I were in your place, Maskull, I would not hesitate long. Don't you understand how to absorb these creatures, who set their feeble, obstinate wills against yours?"

"That is a worse crime," said Maskull.

"Who knows? He will live, but he will tell no tales."

Digrung laughed, but changed colour. "I was right then. The monster has sprung into the light of day."

Maskull laid a hand on his shoulder. "You have the choice, and we are not joking. Do as I ask."

"You have fallen low, Maskull. But you are walking in a dream, and I can't talk to you. As for you, woman—sin must be like a pleasant bath to you...."

"There are strange ties between Maskull and myself; but you are a passer-by, a foreigner. I care nothing for you."

"Nevertheless, I shall not be frightened out of my plans, which are legitimate and right."

"Do as you please," said Tydomin. "If you come to grief, your thoughts will hardly have corresponded with the real events of the world, which is what you boast about. It is no affair of mine."

"I shall go on, and not back!" exclaimed Digrung, with angry emphasis.

Tydomin threw a swift, evil smile at Maskull. "Bear witness that I have tried to persuade this young man. Now you must come to a quick decision in your own mind as to which is of the greatest importance, Digrung's happiness or Joiwind's. Digrung won't allow you to preserve them both."

"It won't take me long to decide. Digrung, I gave you a last chance to change your mind."

"As long as it's in my power I shall go on, and warn my sister against her criminal friends."

Maskull again clutched at him, but this time with violence. Instructed in his actions by some new and horrible instinct, he pressed the young man tightly to his body with all three arms. A feeling of wild, sweet delight immediately passed through him. Then for the first time he comprehended the triumphant joys of "absorbing." It satisfied the hunger of the will, exactly as food satisfies the hunger of the body. Digrung proved feeble—he made little opposition. His personality passed slowly and evenly into Maskull's. The latter became strong and gorged. The victim gradually became paler and limper, until Maskull held a corpse in his arms. He dropped the body, and stood trembling. He had committed his second crime. He felt no immediate difference in his soul, but...

Tydomin shed a sad smile on him, like winter sunshine. He half expected her to speak, but she said nothing. Instead, she made a sign to him to pick up Crimtyphon's corpse. As he obeyed, he wondered why Digrung's dead face did not wear the frightful Crystalman mask.

"Why hasn't he altered?" he muttered to himself.

Tydomin heard him. She kicked Digrung lightly with her little foot. "He isn't dead—that's why. The expression you mean is waiting for your death."

"Then is that my real character?"

She laughed softly. "You came here to carve a strange world, and now it appears you are carved yourself. Oh, there's no doubt about it, Maskull. You needn't stand there gaping. You belong to Shaping, like the rest of us. You are not a king, or a god."

"Since when have I belonged to him?"

"What does that matter? Perhaps since you first breathed the air of Tormance, or perhaps since five minutes ago."

Without waiting for his response, she set off through the copse, and strode on to the next island. Maskull followed, physically distressed and looking very grave.

The journey continued for half an hour longer, without incident. The character of the scenery slowly changed. The mountaintops became loftier and more widely separated from one another. The gaps were filled with rolling, white clouds, which bathed the shores of the peaks like a mysterious sea. To pass from island to island was hard work, the intervening spaces were so wide—Tydomin, however, knew the way. The intense light, the violet-blue sky, the patches of vivid landscape, emerging from the white vapour-ocean, made a profound impression on Maskull's mind. The glow of Alppain was hidden by the huge mass of Disscourn, which loomed up straight in front of them.

The green snow on the top of the gigantic pyramid had by now completely melted away. The black, gold, and crimson of its mighty cliffs stood out with terrific brilliance. They were directly beneath the bulk of the mountain, which was not a mile away. It did not appear dangerous to climb, but he was unaware on which side of it their destination lay.

It was split from top to bottom by numerous straight fissures. A few pale-green waterfalls descended here and there, like narrow, motionless threads. The face of the mountain was rugged and bare. It was strewn with detached boulders, and great, jagged rocks projected everywhere like iron teeth. Tydomin pointed to a small black hole near the base, which might be a cave. "That is where I live."

"You live here alone?"

"Yes."

"It's an odd choice for a woman—and you are not unbeautiful, either."

"A woman's life is over at twenty-five," she replied, sighing. "And I am far older than that. Ten years ago it would have been I who lived yonder, and not Oceaxe. Then all this wouldn't have happened."

A quarter of an hour later they stood within the mouth of the cave. It was ten feet high, and its interior was impenetrably black.

"Put down the body in the entrance, out of the sun," directed Tydomin. He did so.

She cast a keenly scrutinising glance at him. "Does your resolution still hold, Maskull?"

"Why shouldn't it hold? My brains are not feathers."

"Follow me, then."

They both stepped into the cave. At that very moment a sickening crash, like heavy thunder just over their heads, set Maskull's weakened heart thumping violently. An avalanche of boulders, stones, and dust, swept past the cave entrance from above. If their going in had been delayed by a single minute, they would have been killed.

Tydomin did not even look up. She took his hand in hers, and started walking with him into the darkness. The temperature became as cold as ice. At the first bend the light from the outer world disappeared, leaving them in absolute blackness. Maskull kept stumbling over the uneven ground, but she kept tight hold of him, and hurried him along.

The tunnel seemed of interminable length. Presently, however, the atmosphere changed—or such was his impression. He was somehow led to imagine that they had come to a larger chamber. Here Tydomin stopped, and then forced him down with quiet pressure. His groping hand encountered stone and, by feeling it all over, he discovered that it was a sort of stone slab, or couch, raised a foot or eighteen inches from the ground. She told him to lie down.

"Has the time come?" asked Maskull.

"Yes."

He lay there waiting in the darkness, ignorant of what was going to happen. He felt her hand clasping his. Without perceiving any gradation, he lost all consciousness of his body; he was no longer able to feel his limbs or internal organs. His mind remained active and alert. Nothing particular appeared to be taking place.

Then the chamber began to grow light, like very early morning. He could see nothing, but the retina of his eyes was affected. He fancied that he heard music, but while he was listening for it, it stopped. The light grew stronger, the air grew warmer; he heard the confused sound of distant voices.

Suddenly Tydomin gave his hand a powerful squeeze. He heard someone scream faintly, and then the light leaped up, and he saw everything clearly.

He was lying on a wooden couch, in a strangely decorated room, lighted by electricity. His hand was being squeezed, not by Tydomin, but by a man dressed in the garments of civilisation, with whose face he was certainly familiar, but under what circumstances he could not recall. Other people stood in the background—they too were vaguely known to him. He sat up and began to smile, without any especial reason; and then stood upright.

Everybody seemed to be watching him with anxiety and emotion—he wondered why. Yet he felt that they were all acquaintances. Two in particular he knew—the man at the farther end of the room, who paced restlessly backward and forward, his face transfigured by stern, holy grandeur; and that other big, bearded man—who was himself. Yes—he was looking at his own double. But it was just as if a crime-riddled man of middle age were suddenly confronted with his own photograph as an earnest, idealistic youth.

His other self spoke to him. He heard the sounds, but did not comprehend the sense. Then the door was abruptly flung open, and a short, brutish-looking individual leaped in. He began to behave in an extraordinary manner to everyone around him; and after that came straight up to him—Maskull. He spoke some words, but they were incomprehensible. A terrible expression came over the newcomer's face, and he grasped his neck with a pair of hairy hands. Maskull felt his bones bending and breaking, excruciating pains passed through all the nerves of his body, and he experienced a sense of impending death. He cried out, and sank helplessly on the floor, in a heap. The chamber and the company vanished—the light went out.

Once more he found himself in the blackness of the cave. He was this time lying on the ground, but Tydomin was still with him, holding his hand. He was in horrible bodily agony, but this was only a setting for the despairing anguish that filled his mind.

Tydomin addressed him in tones of gentle reproach. "Why are you back so soon? I've not had time yet. You must return."

He caught hold of her, and pulled himself up to his feet. She gave a low scream, as though in pain. "What does this mean—what are you doing, Maskull?"

"Krag—" began Maskull, but the effort to produce his words choked him, so that he was obliged to stop.

"Krag—what of Krag? Tell me quickly what has happened. Free my arm."

He gripped her arm tighter.

"Yes, I've seen Krag. I'm awake."

"Oh! You are awake, awake."

"And you must die," said Maskull, in an awful voice.

"But why? What has happened?..."

"You must die, and I must kill you. Because I am awake, and for no other reason. You blood-stained dancing mistress!"

Tydomin breathed hard for a little time. Then she seemed suddenly to regain her self-possession.

"You won't offer me violence, surely, in this black cave?"

"No, the sun shall look on, for it is not a murder. But rest assured that you must die—you must expiate your fearful crimes."

"You have already said so, and I see you have the power. You have escaped me. It is very curious. Well, then, Maskull, let us come outside. I am not afraid. But kill me courteously, for I have also been courteous to you. I make no other supplication."



Chapter 11. ON DISSCOURN

BY THE TIME that they regained the mouth of the cavern, Blodsombre was at its height. In front of them the scenery sloped downward—a long succession of mountain islands in a sea of clouds. Behind them the bright, stupendous crags of Disscourn loomed up for a thousand feet or more. Maskull's eyes were red, and his face looked stupid; he was still holding the woman by the arm. She made no attempt to speak, or to get away. She seemed perfectly gentle and composed.

After gazing at the country for along time in silence, he turned toward her. "Whereabouts is the fiery lake you spoke of?"

"It lies on the other side of the mountain. But why do you ask?"

"It is just as well if we have some way to walk. I shall grow calmer, and that's what I want. I wish you to understand that what is going to happen is not a murder, but an execution."

"It will taste the same," said Tydomin.

"When I have gone out of this country, I don't wish to feel that I have left a demon behind me, wandering at large. That would not be fair to others. So we will go to the lake, which promises an easy death for you."

She shrugged her shoulders. "We must wait till Blodsombre is over."

"Is this a time for luxurious feelings? However hot it is now, we will both be cool by evening. We must start at once."

"Without doubt, you are the master, Maskull.... May I not carry Crimtyphon?"

Maskull looked at her strangely.

"I grudge no man his funeral."

She painfully hoisted the body on her narrow shoulders, and they stepped out into the sunlight. The heat struck them like a blow on the head. Maskull moved aside, to allow her to precede him, but no compassion entered his heart. He brooded over the wrongs the woman had done him.

The way went along the south side of the great pyramid, near its base. It was a rough road, clogged with boulders and crossed by cracks and water gullies; they could see the water, but could not get at it. There was no shade. Blisters formed on their skin, while all the water in their blood seemed to dry up.

Maskull forgot his own tortures in his devil's delight at Tydomin's. "Sing me a song!" he called out presently. "A characteristic one."

She turned her head and gave him a long, peculiar look; then, without any sort of expostulation, started singing. Her voice was low and weird. The song was so extraordinary that he had to rub his eyes to ascertain whether he was awake or dreaming. The slow surprises of the grotesque melody began to agitate him in a horrible fashion; the words were pure nonsense—or else their significance was too deep for him.

"Where, in the name of all unholy things, did you acquire that stuff, woman?"

Tydomin shed a sickly smile, while the corpse swayed about with ghastly jerks over her left shoulder. She held it in position with her two left arms. "It's a pity we could not have met as friends, Maskull. I could have shown you a side of Tormance which now perhaps you will never see. The wild, mad, side. But now it's too late, and it doesn't matter."

They turned the angle of the mountain, and started to traverse the western base.

"Which is the quickest way out of this miserable land?" asked Maskull.

"It is easiest to go to Sant."

"Will we see it from anywhere?"

"Yes, though it is a long way off."

"Have you been there?"

"I am a woman, and interdicted."

"True. I have heard something of the sort."

"But don't ask me any more questions," said Tydomin, who was becoming faint.

Maskull stopped at a little spring. He himself drank, and then made a cup of his hand for the woman, so that she might not have to lay down her burden. The gnawl water acted like magic—it seemed to replenish all the cells of his body as though they had been thirsty sponge pores, sucking up liquid. Tydomin recovered her self-possession.

About three-quarters of an hour later they worked around the second corner, and entered into full view of the north aspect of Disscourn.

A hundred yards lower down the slope on which they were walking, the mountain ended abruptly in a chasm. The air above it was filled with a sort of green haze, which trembled violently like the atmosphere immediately over a furnace.

"The lake is underneath," said Tydomin.

Maskull looked curiously about him. Beyond the crater the country sloped away in a continuous descent to the skyline. Behind them, a narrow path channelled its way up through the rocks toward the towering summit of the pyramid. Miles away, in the north-east quarter, a long, flat-topped plateau raised its head far above all the surrounding country. It was Sant—and there and then he made up his mind that that should be his destination that day.

Tydomin meanwhile had walked straight to the gulf, and set down Crimtyphon's body on the edge. In a minute or two, Maskull joined her; arrived at the brink, he immediately flung himself at full length on his chest, to see what could be seen of the lake of fire. A gust of hot, asphyxiating air smote his face and set him coughing, but he did not get up until he had stared his fill at the huge sea of green, molten lava, tossing and swirling at no great distance below, like a living will.

A faint sound of drumming came up. He listened intently, and as he did so his heart quickened and the black cares rolled away from his soul. All the world and its accidents seemed at that moment false, and without meaning....

He climbed abstractedly to his feet. Tydomin was talking to her dead husband. She was peering into the hideous face of ivory, and fondling his violet hair. When she perceived Maskull, she hastily kissed the withered lips, and got up from her knees. Lifting the corpse with all three arms, she staggered with it to the extreme edge of the gulf and, after an instant's hesitation, allowed it to drop into the lava. It disappeared immediately without sound; a metallic splash came up. That was Crimtyphon's funeral.

"Now I am ready, Maskull."

He did not answer, but stared past her. Another figure was standing, erect and mournful, not far behind her. It was Joiwind. Her face was wan, and there was an accusing look in her eyes. Maskull knew that it was a phantasm, and that the real Joiwind was miles away, at Poolingdred.

"Turn around, Tydomin," he said oddly, "and tell me what you see behind you."

"I don't see anything," she answered, looking around.

"But I see Joiwind."

Just as he was speaking, the apparition vanished.

"Now I present you with your life, Tydomin. She wishes it."

The woman fingered her chin thoughtfully.

"I little expected I should ever be beholden for my life to one of my own sex—but so be it. What really happened to you in my cavern?"

"I really saw Krag."

"Yes, some miracle must have taken place." She suddenly shivered. "Come, let us leave this horrible spot. I shall never come here again."

"Yes," said Maskull, "it stinks of death and dying. But where are we to go—what are we to do? Take me to Sant. I must get away from this hellish land."

Tydomin remained standing, dull and hollow-eyed. Then she gave an abrupt, bitter little laugh. "We make our journey together in singular stages. Rather than be alone, I'll come with you—but you know that if I set foot in Sant they will kill me."

"At least set me on the way. I wish to get there before night. Is it possible?"

"If you are willing to take risks with nature. And why should you not take risks today? Your luck holds. But someday or other it won't hold—your luck."

"Let us start," said Maskull. "The luck I've had so far is nothing to brag about."

Blodsombre was over when they set off; it was early afternoon, but the heat seemed more stifling than ever. They made no more pretence at conversation; both were buried in their own painful thoughts. The land fell away from Disscourn in all other directions, but toward Sant there was a gentle, persistent rise. Its dark, distant plateau continued to dominate the landscape, and after walking for an hour they seemed none the nearer to it. The air was stale and stagnant.

By and by, an upright object, apparently the work of man, attracted Maskull's notice. It was a slender tree stem, with the bark still on, imbedded in the stony ground. From the upper end three branches sprang out, pointing aloft at a sharp angle. They were stripped to twigs and leaves and, getting closer, he saw that they had been artificially fastened on, at equal distances from each other.

As he stared at the object, a strange, sudden flush of confident vanity and self-sufficiency seemed to pass through him, but it was so momentary that he could be sure of nothing.

"What may that be, Tydomin?"

"It is Hator's Trifork."

"And what is its purpose?"

"It's a guide to Sant."

"But who or what is Hator?"

"Hator was the founder of Sant—many thousands of years ago. He laid down the principles they all live by, and that trifork is his symbol. When I was a little child my father told me the legends, but I've forgotten most of them."

Maskull regarded it attentively.

"Does it affect you in any way?"

"And why should it do that?" she said, dropping her lip scornfully. "I am only a woman, and these are masculine mysteries."

"A sort of gladness came over me," said Maskull, "but perhaps I am mistaken."

They passed on. The scenery gradually changed in character. The solid parts of the land grew more continuous, the fissures became narrower and more infrequent. There were now no more subsidences or upheavals. The peculiar nature of the Ifdawn Marest appeared to be giving place to a different order of things.

Later on, they encountered a flock of pale blue jellies floating in the air. They were miniature animals. Tydomin caught one in her hand and began to eat it, just as one eats a luscious pear plucked from a tree. Maskull, who had fasted since early morning, was not slow in following her example. A sort of electric vigour at once entered his limbs and body, his muscles regained their elasticity, his heart began to beat with hard, slow, strong throbs.

"Food and body seem to agree well in this world," he remarked smiling.

She glanced toward him. "Perhaps the explanation is not in the food, but in your body."

"I brought my body with me."

"You brought your soul with you, but that's altering fast, too."

In a copse they came across a short, wide tree, without leaves, but possessing a multitude of thin, flexible branches, like the tentacles of a cuttlefish. Some of these branches were moving rapidly. A furry animal, somewhat resembling a wildcat, leaped about among them in the most extraordinary way. But the next minute Maskull was shocked to realise that the beast was not leaping at all, but was being thrown from branch to branch by the volition of the tree, exactly as an imprisoned mouse is thrown by a cat from paw to paw.

He watched the spectacle a while with morbid interest.

"That's a gruesome reversal of roles, Tydomin."

"One can see you're disgusted," she replied, stifling a yawn. "But that is because you are a slave to words. If you called that plant an animal, you would find its occupation perfectly natural and pleasing. And why should you not call it an animal?"

"I am quite aware that, as long as I remain in the Ifdawn Marest, I shall go on listening to this sort of language."

They trudged along for an hour or more without talking. The day became overcast. A thin mist began to shroud the landscape, and the sun changed into an immense ruddy disk which could be stared at without flinching. A chill, damp wind blew against them. Presently it grew still darker, the sun disappeared and, glancing first at his companion and then at himself, Maskull noticed that their skin and clothing were coated by a kind of green hoarfrost.

The land was now completely solid. About half a mile, in front of them, against a background of dark fog, a moving forest of tall waterspouts gyrated slowly and gracefully hither and thither. They were green and self-luminous, and looked terrifying. Tydomin explained that they were not waterspouts at all, but mobile columns of lightning.

"Then they are dangerous?"

"So we think," she answered, watching them closely.

"Someone is wandering there who appears to have a different opinion."

Among the spouts, and entirely encompassed by them, a man was walking with a slow, calm, composed gait, his back turned toward Maskull and Tydomin. There was something unusual in his appearance—his form looked extraordinarily distinct, solid, and real.

"If there's danger, he ought to be warned," said Maskull.

"He who is always anxious to teach will learn nothing," returned the woman coolly. She restrained Maskull by a pressure of the arm, and continued to watch.

The base of one of the columns touched the man. He remained unharmed, but turned sharply around, as if for the first time made aware of the proximity of these deadly waltzers. Then he raised himself to his full height, and stretched both arms aloft above his head, like a diver. He seemed to be addressing the columns.

While they looked on, the electric spouts discharged themselves, with a series of loud explosions. The stranger stood alone, uninjured. He dropped his arms. The next moment he caught sight of the two, and stood still, waiting for them to come up. The pictorial clarity of his person grew more and more noticeable as they approached; his body seemed to be composed of some substance heavier and denser than solid matter.

Tydomin looked perplexed.

"He must be a Sant man. I have seen no one quite like him before. This is a day of days for me."

"He must be an individual of great importance," murmured Maskull.

They now came up to him. He was tall, strong, and bearded, and was clothed in a shirt and breeches of skin. Since turning his back to the wind, the green deposit on his face and limbs had changed to streaming moisture, through which his natural colour was visible; it was that of pale iron. There was no third arm. His face was harsh and frowning, and a projecting chin pushed the beard forward. On his forehead there were two flat membranes, like rudimentary eyes, but no sorb. These membranes were expressionless, but in some strange way seemed to add vigour to the stem eyes underneath. When his glance rested on Maskull, the latter felt as though his brain were being thoroughly travelled through. The man was middle-aged.

His physical distinctness transcended nature. By contrast with him, every object in the neighbourhood looked vague and blurred. Tydomin's person suddenly appeared faint, sketch-like, without significance, and Maskull realised that it was no better with himself. A queer, quickening fire began running through his veins.

He turned to the woman. "If this man is going to Sant, I shall bear him company. We can now part. No doubt you will think it high time."

"Let Tydomin come too."

The words were delivered in a rough, foreign tongue, but were as intelligible to Maskull as if spoken in English.

"You who know my name, also know my sex," said Tydomin quietly. "It is death for me to enter Sant."

"That is the old law. I am the bearer of the new law."

"Is it so—and will it be accepted?"

"The old skin is cracking, the new skin has been silently forming underneath, the moment of sloughing has arrived."

The storm gathered. The green snow drove against them, as they stood talking, and it grew intensely cold. None noticed it.

"What is your name?" asked Maskull, with a beating heart.

"My name, Maskull, is Spadevil. You, a voyager across the dark ocean of space, shall be my first witness and follower. You, Tydomin, a daughter of the despised sex, shall be my second."

"The new law? But what is it?"

"Until eye sees, of what use it is for ear to hear?.... Come, both of you, to me!"

Tydomin went to him unhesitatingly. Spadevil pressed his hand on her sorb and kept it there for a few minutes, while he closed his own eyes. When he removed it, Maskull observed that the sorb was transformed into twin membranes like Spadevil's own.

Tydomin looked dazed. She glanced quietly about for a little while, apparently testing her new faculty. Then the tears started to her eyes and, snatching up Spadevil's hand, she bent over and kissed it hurriedly many times.

"My past has been bad," she said. "Numbers have received harm from me, and none good. I have killed and worse. But now I can throw all that away, and laugh. Nothing can now injure me. Oh, Maskull, you and I have been fools together!"

"Don't you repent your crimes?" asked Maskull.

"Leave the past alone," said Spadevil, "it cannot be reshaped. The future alone is ours. It starts fresh and clean from this very minute. Why do you hesitate, Maskull? Are you afraid?"

"What is the name of, those organs, and what is their function?"

"They are probes, and they are the gates opening into a new world."

Maskull lingered no longer, but permitted Spadevil to cover his sorb.

While the iron hand was still pressing his forehead, the new law quietly flowed into his consciousness, like a smooth-running stream of clean water which had hitherto been dammed by his obstructive will. The law was duty.



Chapter 12. SPADEVIL

Maskull found that his new organs had no independent function of their own, but only intensified and altered his other senses. When he used his eyes, ears, or nostrils, the same objects presented themselves to him, but his judgment concerning them was different. Previously all external things had existed for him; now he existed for them. According to whether they served his purpose or were in harmony with his nature, or otherwise, they had been pleasant or painful. Now these words "pleasure" and "pain" simply had no meaning.

The other two watched him, while he was making himself acquainted with his new mental outlook. He smiled at them.

"You were quite right, Tydomin," he said, in a bold, cheerful voice. "We have been fools. So near the light all the time, and we never guessed it. Always buried in the past or future—systematically ignoring the present—and now it turns out that apart from the present we have no life at all."

"Thank Spadevil for it," she answered, more loudly than usual.

Maskull looked at the man's dark, concrete form. "Spadevil, now I mean to follow you to the end. I can do nothing less."

The severe face showed no sign of gratification—not a muscle relaxed.

"Watch that you don't lose your gift," he said gruffly.

Tydomin spoke. "You promised that I should enter Sant with you."

"Attach yourself to the truth, not to me. For I may die before you, but the truth will accompany you to your death. However, now let us journey together, all three of us."

The words had not left his mouth before he put his face against the fine, driving snow, and pressed onward toward his destination. He walked with a long stride; Tydomin was obliged to half run in order to keep up with him. The three travelled abreast; Spadevil in the middle. The fog was so dense that it was impossible to see a hundred yards ahead. The ground was covered by the green snow. The wind blew in gusts from the Sant highlands and was piercingly cold.

"Spadevil, are you a man, or more than a man?" asked Maskull.

"He that is not more than a man is nothing."

"Where have you now come from?"

"From brooding, Maskull. Out of no other mother can truth be born. I have brooded, and rejected; and I have brooded again. Now, after many months' absence from Sant, the truth at last shines forth for me in its simple splendour, like an upturned diamond."

"I see its shining," said Maskull. "But how much does it owe to ancient Hator?"

"Knowledge has its seasons. The blossom was to Hator, the fruit is to me. Hator also was a brooder—but now his followers do not brood. In Sant all is icy selfishness, a living death. They hate pleasure, and this hatred is the greatest pleasure to them."

"But in what way have they fallen off from Hator's doctrines?"

"For him, in his sullen purity of nature, all the world was a snare, a limed twig. Knowing that pleasure was everywhere, a fierce, mocking enemy, crouching and waiting at every corner of the road of life, in order to kill with its sweet sting the naked grandeur of the soul, he shielded himself behind pain. This also his followers do, but they do not do it for the sake of the soul, but for the sake of vanity and pride."

"What is the Trifork?"

"The stem, Maskull, is hatred of pleasure. The first fork is disentanglement from the sweetness of the world. The second fork is power over those who still writhe in the nets of illusion. The third fork is the healthy glow of one who steps into ice-cold water."

"From what land did Hator come?"

"It is not said. He lived in Ifdawn for a while. There are many legends told of him while there."

"We have a long way to go," said Tydomin. "Relate some of these legends, Spadevil."

The snow had ceased, the day brightened, Branchspell reappeared like a phantom sun, but bitter blasts of wind still swept over the plain.

"In those days," said Spadevil, "there existed in Ifdawn a mountain island separated by wide spaces from the land around it. A handsome girl, who knew sorcery, caused a bridge to be constructed across which men and women might pass to it. Having by a false tale drawn Hator on to this rock, she pushed at the bridge with her foot until it tumbled into the depths below. 'You and I, Hator, are now together, and there is no means of separating. I wish to see how long the famous frost man can withstand the breath, smiles and perfume of a girl.' Hator said no word, either then or all that day. He stood till sunset like a tree trunk, and thought of other things. Then the girl grew passionate, and shook her curls. She rose from where she was sitting she looked at him, and touched his arm; but he did not see her. She looked at him, so that all the soul was in her eyes; and then she fell down dead. Hator awoke from his thoughts, and saw her lying, still warm, at his feet, a corpse. He passed to the mainland; but how, it is not related."

Tydomin shuddered. "You too have met your wicked woman, Spadevil; but your method is a nobler one."

"Don't pity other women," said Spadevil, "but love the right. Hator also once conversed with Shaping."

"With the Maker of the World?" said Maskull thoughtfully.

"With the Maker of Pleasure. It is told how Shaping defended his world, and tried to force Hator to acknowledge loveliness and joy. But Hator, answering all his marvellous speeches in a few concise, iron words, showed how this joy and beauty was but another name for the bestiality of souls wallowing in luxury and sloth. Shaping smiled, and said, 'How comes it that your wisdom is greater than that of the Master of wisdom?' Hator said, 'My wisdom does not come from you, nor from your world, but from that other world, which you, Shaping, have vainly tried to imitate.' Shaping replied, 'What, then, do you do in my world?' Hator said, 'I am here falsely, and therefore I am subject to your false pleasures. But I wrap myself in pain—not because it is good, but because I wish to keep myself as far from you as possible. For pain is not yours, neither does it belong to the other world, but it is the shadow cast by your false pleasures.' Shaping then said, 'What is this faraway other world of which you say "This is so—this is not so?" How happens it that you alone of all my creatures have knowledge of it?' But Hator spat at his feet, and said, 'You lie, Shaping. All have knowledge of it. You, with your pretty toys, alone obscure it from our view.' Shaping asked, 'What, then, am I?' Hator answered, 'You are the dreamer of impossible dreams.' And then the story goes that Shaping departed, ill pleased with what had been said."

"What other world did Hator refer to?" asked Maskull.

"One where grandeur reigns, Maskull, just as pleasure reigns here."

"Whether grandeur or pleasure, it makes no difference," said Maskull. "The individual spirit that lives and wishes to live is mean and corrupt-natured."

"Guard you your pride!" returned Spadevil. "Do not make law for the universe and for all time, but for yourself and for this small, false life of yours."

"In what shape did death come to that hard, unconquerable man?" asked Tydomin.

"He lived to be old, but went upright and free-limbed to his last hour. When he saw that death could not be staved off longer he determined to destroy himself. He gathered his friends around him; not from vanity, but that they might see to what lengths the human soul can go in its perpetual warfare with the voluptuous body. Standing erect, without support, he died by withholding his breath."

A silence followed, which lasted for perhaps an hour. Their minds refused to acknowledge the icy winds, but the current of their thoughts became frozen.

When Branchspell, however, shone out again, though with subdued power, Maskull's curiosity rose once more. "Your fellow countrymen, then, Spadevil, are sick with self-love?"

"The men of other countries," said Spadevil, "are the slaves of pleasure and desire, knowing it. But the men of my country are the slaves of pleasure and desire, not knowing it."

"And yet that proud pleasure, which rejoices in self-torture, has something noble in it."

"He who studies himself at all is ignoble. Only by despising soul as well as body can a man enter into true life."

"On what grounds do they reject women?"

"Inasmuch as a woman has ideal love, and cannot live for herself. Love for another is pleasure for the loved one, and therefore injurious to him."

"A forest of false ideas is waiting for your axe," said Maskull. "But will they allow it?"

"Spadevil knows, Maskull," said Tydomin, "that be it today or be it tomorrow, love can't be kept out of a land, even by the disciples of Hator."

"Beware of love—beware of emotion!" exclaimed Spadevil. "Love is but pleasure once removed. Think not of pleasing others, but of serving them."

"Forgive me, Spadevil, if I am still feminine."

"Right has no sex. So long, Tydomin, as you remember that you are a woman, so long you will not enter into divine apathy of soul."

"But where there are no women, there are no children," said Maskull. "How came there to be all these generations of Hator men?"

"Life breeds passion, passion breeds suffering, suffering breeds the yearning for relief from suffering. Men throng to Sant from all parts, in order to have the scars of their souls healed."

"In place of hatred of pleasure, which all can understand, what simple formula do you offer?"

"Iron obedience to duty," answered Spadevil.

"And if they ask 'How far is this consistent with hatred of pleasure?' what will your pronouncement be?"

"I do not answer them, but I answer you, Maskull, who ask the question. Hatred is passion, and all passion springs from the dark fires of self. Do not hate pleasure at all, but pass it by on one side, calm and undisturbed."

"What is the criterion of pleasure? How can we always recognise it, in order to avoid it?"

"Rigidly follow duty, and such questions will not arise."

Later in the afternoon, Tydomin timidly placed her fingers on Spadevil's arm.

"Fearful doubts are in my mind," she said. "This expedition to Sant may turn out badly. I have seen a vision of you, Spadevil, and myself lying dead and covered in blood, but Maskull was not there."

"We may drop the torch, but it will not be extinguished, and others will raise it."

"Show me a sign that you are not as other men—so that I may know that our blood will not be wasted."

Spadevil regarded her sternly. "I am not a magician. I don't persuade the senses, but the soul. Does your duty call you to Sant, Tydomin? Then go there. Does it not call you to Sant? Then go no farther. Is not this simple? What signs are necessary?"

"Did I not see you dispel those spouts of lightning? No common man could have done that."

"Who knows what any man can do? This man can do one thing, that man can do another. But what all men can do is their duty; and to open their eyes to this, I must go to Sant, and if necessary lay down my life. Will you not still accompany me?"

"Yes," said Tydomin, "I will follow you to the end. It is all the more essential, because I keep on displeasing you with my remarks, and that means I have not yet learned my lesson properly."

"Do not be humble, for humility is only self-judgment, and while we are thinking of self, we must be neglecting some action we could be planning or shaping in our mind."

Tydomin continued to be uneasy and preoccupied.

"Why was Maskull not in the picture?" she asked.

"You dwell on this foreboding because you imagine it is tragical. There is nothing tragical in death, Tydomin, nor in life. There is only right and wrong. What arises from right or wrong action does not matter. We are not gods, constructing a world, but simple men and women, doing our immediate duty. We may die in Sant—so you have seen it; but the truth will go on living."

"Spadevil, why do you choose Sant to start your work in?" asked Maskull. "These men with fixed ideas seem to me the least likely of any to follow a new light."

"Where a bad tree thrives, a good tree will flourish. But where no tree at all can be found, nothing will grow."

"I understand you," said Maskull. "Here perhaps we are going to martyrdom, but elsewhere we should resemble men preaching to cattle."

Shortly before sunset they arrived at the extremity of the upland plain, above which towered the black cliffs of the Sant Levels. A dizzy, artificially constructed staircase, of more than a thousand steps of varying depth, twisting and forking in order to conform to the angles of the precipices, led to the world overhead. In the place where they stood they were sheltered from the cutting winds. Branchspell, radiantly shining at last, but on the point of sinking, filled the cloudy sky with violent, lurid colors, some of the combinations of which were new to Maskull. The circle of the horizon was so gigantic, that had he been suddenly carried back to Earth, he would by comparison have fancied himself to be moving beneath the dome of some little, closed-in cathedral. He realised that he was on a foreign planet. But he was not stirred or uplifted by the knowledge; he was conscious only of moral ideas. Looking backward, he saw the plain, which for several miles past had been without vegetation, stretching back away to Disscourn. So regular had been the ascent, and so great was the distance, that the huge pyramid looked nothing more than a slight swelling on the face of the earth.

Spadevil stopped, and gazed over the landscape in silence. In the evening sunlight his form looked more dense, dark, and real than ever before. His features were set hard in grimness.

He turned around to his companions. "What is the greatest wonder, in all this wonderful scene?" he demanded.

"Acquaint us," said Maskull.

"All that you see is born from pleasure, and moves on, from pleasure to pleasure. Nowhere is right to be found. It is Shaping's world."

"There is another wonder," said Tydomin, and she pointed her finger toward the sky overhead.

A small cloud, so low down that it was perhaps not more than five hundred feet above them, was sailing along in front of the dark wall of cliff. It was in the exact shape of an open human hand, with downward-pointing fingers. It was stained crimson by the sun; and one or two tiny cloudlets beneath the fingers looked like falling drops of blood.

"Who can doubt now that our death is close at hand?" said Tydomin. "I have been close to death twice today. The first time I was ready, but now I am more ready, for I shall die side by side with the man who has given me my first happiness."

"Do not think of death, but of right persistence," replied Spadevil. "I am not here to tremble before Shaping's portents; but to snatch men from him."

He at once proceeded to lead the way up the staircase. Tydomin gazed upward after him for a moment, with an odd, worshiping light in her eyes. Then she followed him, the second of the party. Maskull climbed last. He was travel stained, unkempt, and very tired; but his soul was at peace. As they steadily ascended the almost perpendicular stairs, the sun got higher in the sky. Its light dyed their bodies a ruddy gold.

They gained the top. There they found rolling in front of them, as far as the eye could see, a barren desert of white sand, broken here and there by large, jagged masses of black rock. Tracts of the sand were reddened by the sinking sun. The vast expanse of sky was filled by evil-shaped clouds and wild colors. The freezing wind, flurrying across the desert, drove the fine particles of sand painfully against their faces.

"Where now do you take us?" asked Maskull.

"He who guards the old wisdom of Sant must give up that wisdom to me, that I may change it. What he says, others will say. I go to find Maulger."

"And where will you seek him, in this bare country?"

Spadevil struck off toward the north unhesitatingly.

"It is not so far," he said. "It is his custom to be in that part where Sant overhangs the Wombflash Forest. Perhaps he will be there, but I cannot say."

Maskull glanced toward Tydomin. Her sunken cheeks, and the dark circles beneath her eyes told of her extreme weariness.

"The woman is tired, Spadevil," he said.

She smiled, "It's but another step into the land of death. I can manage it. Give me your arm, Maskull."

He put his arm around her waist, and supported her along that way.

"The sun is now sinking," said Maskull. "Will we get there before dark?"

"Fear nothing, Maskull and Tydomin; this pain is eating up the evil in your nature. The road you are walking cannot remain unwalked. We shall arrive before dark."

The sun then disappeared behind the far-distant ridges that formed the western boundary of the Ifdawn Marest. The sky blazed up into more vivid colors. The wind grew colder.

They passed some pools of colourless gnawl water, round the banks of which were planted fruit trees. Maskull ate some of the fruit. It was hard, bitter, and astringent; he could not get rid of the taste, but he felt braced and invigorated by the downward-flowing juices. No other trees or shrubs were to be seen anywhere. No animals appeared, no birds or insects. It was a desolate land.

A mile or two passed, when they again approached the edge of the plateau. Far down, beneath their feet, the great Wombflash Forest began. But daylight had vanished there; Maskull's eyes rested only on a vague darkness. He faintly heard what sounded like the distant sighing of innumerable treetops.

In the rapidly darkening twilight, they came abruptly on a man. He was standing in a pool, on one leg. A pile of boulders had hidden him from their view. The water came as far up as his calf. A trifork, similar to the one Maskull had seen on Disscourn, but smaller, had been stuck in the mud close by his hand.

They stopped by the side of the pond, and waited. Immediately he became aware of their presence, the man set down his other leg, and waded out of the water toward them, picking up his trifork in doing so.

"This is not Maulger, but Catice," said Spadevil.

"Maulger is dead," said Catice, speaking the same tongue as Spadevil, but with an even harsher accent, so that the tympanum of Maskull's ear was affected painfully.

The latter saw before him a bowed, powerful individual, advanced in years. He wore nothing but a scanty loincloth. His trunk was long and heavy, but his legs were rather short. His face was beardless, lemon-coloured, and anxious-looking. It was disfigured by a number of longitudinal ruts, a quarter of an inch deep, the cavities of which seemed clogged with ancient dirt. The hair of his head was black and sparse. Instead of the twin membranous organs of Spadevil, he possessed but one; and this was in the centre of his brow.

Spadevil's dark, solid person stood out from the rest like a reality among dreams.

"Has the trifork passed to you?" he demanded.

"Yes. Why have you brought this woman to Sant?"

"I have brought another thing to Sant. I have brought the new faith."

Catice stood motionless, and looked troubled. "State it."

"Shall I speak with many words, or few words?"

"If you wish to say what is not, many words will not suffice. If you wish to say what is, a few words will be enough."

Spadevil frowned.

"To hate pleasure brings pride with it. Pride is a pleasure. To kill pleasure, we must attach ourselves to duty. While the mind is planning right action, it has no time to think of pleasure."

"Is that the whole?" asked Catice.

"The truth is simple, even for the simplest man."

"Do you destroy Hator, and all his generations, with a single word?"

"I destroy nature, and set up law."

A long silence followed.

"My probe is double," said Spadevil. "Suffer me to double yours, and you will see as I see."

"Come you here, you big man!" said Catice to Maskull. Maskull advanced a step closer.

"Do you follow Spadevil in his new faith?"

"As far as death," exclaimed Maskull.

Catice picked up a flint. "With this stone I strike out one of your two probes. When you have but one, you will see with me, and you will recollect with Spadevil. Choose you then the superior faith, and I shall obey your choice."

"Endure this little pain, Maskull, for the sake of future men," said Spadevil.

"The pain is nothing," replied Maskull, "but I fear the result."

"Permit me, although I am only a woman, to take his place, Catice," said Tydomin, stretching out her hand.

He struck at it violently with the flint, and gashed it from wrist to thumb; the pale carmine blood spouted up. "What brings this kiss-lover to Sant?" he said. "How does she presume to make the rules of life for the sons of Hator?"

She bit her lip, and stepped back. "Well then, Maskull, accept! I certainly should not have played false to Spadevil; but you hardly can."

"If he bids me, I must do it," said Maskull. "But who knows what will come of it?"

Spadevil spoke. "Of all the descendants of Hator, Catice is the most wholehearted and sincere. He will trample my truth underfoot, thinking me a demon sent by Shaping, to destroy the work of this land. But a seed will escape, and my blood and yours, Tydomin, will wash it. Then men will know that my destroying evil is their greatest good. But none here will live to see that."

Maskull now went quite close to Catice, and offered his head. Catice raised his hand, and after holding the flint poised for a moment, brought it down with adroitness and force upon the left-hand probe. Maskull cried out with the pain. The blood streamed down, and the function of the organ was destroyed.

There was a pause, while he walked to and fro, trying to staunch the blood.

"What now do you feel, Maskull? What do you see?" inquired Tydomin anxiously.

He stopped, and stared hard at her. "I now see straight," he said slowly.

"What does that mean?"

He continued to wipe the blood from his forehead. He looked troubled. "Henceforward, as long as I live, I shall fight with my nature, and refuse to feel pleasure. And I advise you to do the same."

Spadevil gazed at him sternly. "Do you renounce my teaching?"

Maskull, however, returned the gaze without dismay. Spadevil's image-like clearness of form had departed for him; his frowning face he knew to be the deceptive portico of a weak and confused intellect.

"It is false."

"Is it false to sacrifice oneself for another?" demanded Tydomin.

"I can't argue as yet," said Maskull. "At this moment the world with its sweetness seems to me a sort of charnel house. I feel a loathing for everything in it, including myself. I know no more."

"Is there no duty?" asked Spadevil, in a harsh tone.

"It appears to me but a cloak under which we share the pleasure of other people."

Tydomin pulled at Spadevil's arm. "Maskull has betrayed you, as he has so many others. Let us go."

He stood fast. "You have changed quickly, Maskull."

Maskull, without answering him, turned to Catice. "Why do men go on living in this soft, shameful world, when they can kill themselves?"

"Pain is the native air of Surtur's children. To what other air do you wish to escape?"

"Surtur's children? Is not Surtur Shaping?"

"It is the greatest of lies. It is Shaping's masterpiece."

"Answer, Maskull!" said Spadevil. "Do you repudiate right action?"

"Leave me alone. Go back! I am not thinking of you, and your ideas. I wish you no harm."

The darkness came on fast. There was another prolonged silence.

Catice threw away the flint, and picked up his staff. "The woman must return home," he said.

"She was persuaded here, and did not come freely. You, Spadevil, must die—backslider as you are!"

Tydomin said quietly, "He has no power to enforce this. Are you going to allow the truth to fall to the ground, Spadevil?"

"It will not perish by my death, but by my efforts to escape from death. Catice, I accept your judgment."

Tydomin smiled. "For my part, I am too tired to walk farther today, so I shall die with him."

Catice said to Maskull, "Prove your sincerity. Kill this man and his mistress, according to the laws of Hator."

"I can't do that. I have travelled in friendship with them."

"You denied duty; and now you must do your duty," said Spadevil, calmly stroking his beard. "Whatever law you accept, You must obey, without turning to right or left. Your law commands that we must be stoned; and it will soon be dark."

"Have you not even this amount of manhood?" exclaimed Tydomin.

Maskull moved heavily. "Be my witness, Catice, that the thing was forced on me."

"Hator is looking on, and approving," replied Catice.

Maskull then went apart to the pile of boulders scattered by the side of the pool. He glanced about him, and selected two large fragments of rock, the heaviest that he thought he could carry. With these in his arms, he staggered back.

He dropped them on the ground, and stood, recovering his breath. When he could speak again, he said, "I have a bad heart for the business. Is there no alternative? Sleep here tonight, Spadevil, and in the morning go back to where you have come from. No one shall harm you."

Spadevil's ironic smile was lost in the gloom.

"Shall I brood again, Maskull, for still another year, and after that come back to Sant with other truths? Come, waste no time, but choose the heavier stone for me, for I am stronger than Tydomin."

Maskull lifted one of the rocks, and stepped out four full paces. Spadevil confronted him, erect, and waited tranquilly.

The huge stone hurtled through the air. Its flight looked like a dark shadow. It struck Spadevil full in the face, crushing his features, and breaking his neck. He died instantaneously.

Tydomin looked away from the fallen man.

"Be very quick, Maskull, and don't let me keep him waiting."

He panted, and raised the second stone. She placed herself in front of Spadevil's body, and stood there, unsmiling and cold.

The blow caught her between breast and chin, and she fell. Maskull went to her, and, kneeling on the ground, half-raised her in his arms. There she breathed out her last sighs.

After that, he laid her down again, and rested heavily on his hands, while he peered into the dead face. The transition from its heroic, spiritual expression to the vulgar and grinning mask of Crystalman came like a flash; but he saw it.

He stood up in the darkness, and pulled Catice toward him.

"Is that the true likeness of Shaping?"

"It is Shaping stripped of illusion."

"How comes this horrible world to exist?"

Catice did not answer.

"Who is Surtur?"

"You will get nearer to him tomorrow; but not here."

"I am wading through too much blood," said Maskull. "Nothing good can come of it."

"Do not fear change and destruction; but laughter and joy."

Maskull meditated.

"Tell me, Catice. If I had elected to follow Spadevil, would you really have accepted his faith?"

"He was a great-souled man," replied Catice. "I see that the pride of our men is only another sprouting-out of pleasure. Tomorrow I too shall leave Sant, to reflect on all this."

Maskull shuddered. "Then these two deaths were not a necessity, but a crime!"

"His part was played and henceforward the woman would have dragged down his ideas, with her soft love and loyalty. Regret nothing, stranger, but go away at once out of the land."

"Tonight? Where shall I go?"

"To Wombflash, where you will meet the deepest minds. I will put you on the way."

He linked his arm in Maskull's, and they walked away into the night. For a mile or more they skirted the edge of the precipice. The wind was searching, and drove grit into their faces. Through the rifts of the clouds, stars, faint and brilliant, appeared. Maskull saw no familiar constellations. He wondered if the sun of earth was visible, and if so which one it was.

They came to the head of a rough staircase, leading down the cliffside. It resembled the one by which he had come up; but this descended to the Wombflash Forest.

"That is your path," said Catice, "and I shall not come any farther."

Maskull detained him. "Say just this, before we part company—why does pleasure appear so shameful to us?"

"Because in feeling pleasure, we forget our home."

"And that is—"

"Muspel," answered Catice.

Having made this reply, he disengaged himself, and, turning his back, disappeared into the darkness.

Maskull stumbled down the staircase as best he could. He was tired, but contemptuous of his pains. His uninjured probe began to discharge matter. He lowered himself from step to step during what seemed an interminable time. The rustling and sighing of the trees grew louder as he approached the bottom; the air became still and warm.

He at last reached level ground. Still attempting to proceed, he began to trip over roots, and to collide with tree trunks. After this had happened a few times, he determined to go no farther that night. He heaped together some dry leaves for a pillow, and immediately flung himself down to sleep. Deep and heavy unconsciousness seized him almost instantly.



Chapter 13. THE WOMBFLASH FOREST

He awoke to his third day on Tormance. His limbs ached. He lay on his side, looking stupidly at his surroundings. The forest was like night, but that period of the night when the grey dawn is about to break and objects begin to be guessed at, rather than seen. Two or three amazing shadowy shapes, as broad as houses, loomed up out of the twilight. He did not realise that they were trees, until he turned over on his back and followed their course upward. Far overhead, so high up that he dared not calculate the height, he saw their tops glittering in the sunlight, against a tiny patch of blue sky.

Clouds of mist, rolling over the floor of the forest, kept interrupting his view. In their silent passage they were like phantoms flitting among the trees. The leaves underneath him were sodden, and heavy drops of moisture splashed onto his head from time to time.

He continued lying there, trying to reconstruct the events of the preceding day. His brain was lethargic and confused. Something terrible had happened, but what it was he could not for a long time recollect. Then suddenly there came before his eyes that ghastly closing scene at dusk on the Sant plateau—Spadevil's crushed and bloody features and Tydomin's dying sighs.... He shuddered convulsively, and felt sick.

The peculiar moral outlook that had dictated these brutal murders had departed from him during the night, and now he recognised what he had done! During the whole of the previous day he seemed to have been labouring under a series of heavy enchantments. First Oceaxe had enslaved him, then Tydomin, then Spadevil, and lastly Catice. They had forced him to murder and violate; he had guessed nothing, but had imagined that he was travelling as a free and enlightened stranger. What was this nightmare journey for—and would it continue, in the same way?...

The silence of the forest was so intense that he heard no sound except the pumping of blood through his arteries.

Putting his hand to his face, he found that his remaining probe had disappeared and that he was in possession of three eyes. The third eye was on his forehead, where the old sorb had been. He could not guess its use. He still had his third arm, but it was nerveless.

Now he puzzled his head for a long time, trying unsuccessfully to recall that name which had been the last word spoken by Catice.

He got up, with the intention of resuming his journey. He had no toilet to make, and no meal to prepare. The forest was tremendous. The nearest tree appeared to him to have a circumference of at least a hundred feet. Other dim boles looked equally large. But what gave the scene its aspect of immensity was the vast spaces separating tree from tree. It was like some gigantic, supernatural hall in a life after death. The lowest branches were fifty yards or more from the ground. There was no underbrush; the soil was carpeted only by the dead, wet leaves. He looked all around him, to find his direction, but the cliffs of Sant, which he had descended, were invisible—every way was like every other way, he had no idea which quarter to attack. He grew frightened, and muttered to himself. Craning his neck back, he stared upward and tried to discover the points of the compass from the direction of the sunlight, but it was impossible.