A Voyage to Arcturus

by David Lindsay

  Chapter 8. THE LUSION PLAIN

  Maskull awoke before the others. He got up, stretched himself, andwalked out into the sunlight. Branchspell was already declining. Heclimbed to the top of the crater edge and looked away toward Ifdawn. Theafterglow of Alppain had by now completely disappeared. The mountainsstood up wild and grand.

  They impressed him like a simple musical theme, the notes of which arewidely separated in the scale; a spirit of rashness, daring, andadventure seemed to call to him from them. It was at that moment thatthe determination flashed into his heart to walk to the Marest andexplore 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 thisselfishness, Maskull?” she asked, “or are you drawn by somethingstronger than yourself?”

  “We must be reasonable,” he answered, smiling. “I can’t settle down inPoolingdred before I have found out something about this surprising newplanet of yours. Remember what a long way I have come.... But verylikely I shall come back here.”

  “Will you make me a promise?”

  Maskull hesitated. “Ask nothing difficult, for I hardly know my powersyet.”

  “It is not hard, and I wish it. Promise this—never to raise your handagainst a living creature, either to strike, pluck, or eat, withoutfirst recollecting its mother, who suffered for it.”

  “Perhaps I won’t promise that,” said Maskull slowly, “but I’ll undertakesomething more tangible. I will never lift my hand against a livingcreature without first recollecting you, Joiwind.”

  She turned a little pale. “Now if Panawe knew that Panawe existed, hemight be jealous.”

  Panawe put his hand on her gently. “You would not talk like that inShaping’s presence,” he said.

  “No. Forgive me! I’m not quite myself. Perhaps it is Maskull’s blood inmy veins.... Now let us bid him adieu. Let us pray that he will do onlyhonourable 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 ofother women on my account?”

  “You are a blessed spirit,” answered he.

  She trod quietly to the inner extremity of the cave and stood therethinking. Panawe and Maskull emerged into the open air. Halfway down thecliff face a little spring was encountered. Its water was colourless,transparent, but gaseous. As soon as Maskull had satisfied his thirst hefelt himself different. His surroundings were so real to him in theirvividness and colour, so unreal in their phantom-like mystery, that hescrambled downhill like one in a winter’s dream.

  When they reached the plain he saw in front of them an interminableforest of tall trees, the shapes of which were extraordinarily foreignlooking. The leaves were crystalline and, looking upward, it was as ifhe were gazing through a roof of glass. The moment they got underneaththe 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 hardto imagine that they were wandering through cool, bright elfin glades.

  Through the forest, beginning at their very feet an avenue, perfectlystraight and not very wide, went forward as far as the eye could see.

  Maskull wanted to talk to his travelling companion, but was somehowunable to find words. Panawe glanced at him with an inscrutablesmile—stern, yet enchanting and half feminine. He then broke thesilence, but, strangely enough, Maskull could not make out whether hewas singing or speaking. From his lips issued a slow musical recitative,exactly like a bewitching adagio from a low toned stringedinstrument—but there was a difference. Instead of the repetition andvariation of one or two short themes, as in music, Panawe’s theme wasprolonged—it never came to an end, but rather resembled a conversationin rhythm and melody. And, at the same time, it was no recitative, forit was not declamatory. It was a long, quiet stream of lovely emotion.

  Maskull listened entranced, yet agitated. The song, if it might betermed song, seemed to be always just on the point of becoming clear andintelligible—not with the intelligibility of words, but in the way onesympathises with another’s moods and feelings; and Maskull felt thatsomething important was about to be uttered, which would explain allthat had gone before. But it was invariably postponed, he neverunderstood—and yet somehow he did understand.

  Late in the afternoon they came to a clearing, and there Panawe ceasedhis recitative. He slowed his pace and stopped, in the fashion of a manwho 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 goon?”

  “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 hehad 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 theMarest tomorrow; but tonight you had better sleep where the forest andriver 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 haveno ambitions in the way of beautifying life—But tell Joiwind I will tryto 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 wasbreathless. The late-afternoon sunshine, unobstructed, wrapped his framein voluptuous heat. A solitary cloud, immensely high, raced through thesky overhead.

  A single trumpet note sounded in the far distance from somewhere behindhim. It gave him an impression of being several miles away at first; butthen it slowly swelled, and came nearer and nearer at the same time thatit increased in volume. Still the same note sounded, but now it was asif blown by a giant trumpeter immediately over his head. Then itgradually diminished in force, and travelled away in front of him. Itended very faintly and distantly.

  He felt himself alone with Nature. A sacred stillness came over hisheart. Past and future were forgotten. The forest, the sun, the day didnot exist for him. He was unconscious of himself—he had no thoughts andno feelings. Yet never had Life had such an altitude for him.

  A man stood, with crossed arms, right in his path. He was so clothedthat his limbs were exposed, while his body was covered. He was youngrather than old. Maskull observed that his countenance possessed none ofthe special organs of Tormance, to which he had not even yet becomereconciled. He was smooth-faced. His whole person seemed to radiate anexcess of life, like the trembling of air on a hot day. His eyes hadsuch force that Maskull could not meet them.

  He addressed Maskull by name, in an extraordinary voice. It had a doubletone. 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 ofthis individual. He believed that something good was happening to him.He found it physically difficult to bring any words out. “Why do youstop 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 beingstabbed.

  “You know that this is my world. Why do you think I have brought youhere? I wish you to serve me.”

  Maskull could no longer speak.

  “Those who joke at my world,” continued the vision, “those who make amock of its stern, eternal rhythm, its beauty and sublimity, which arenot 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 himspring 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 aconcrete man, but as a vast, concave cloud image, looking down andfrowning at him. Then the spectacle vanished, as a light goes out.

  Maskull stood inactive, with a thumping heart. Now he again heard thesolitary trumpet note. The sound began this time faintly in the fardistance in front of him, travelled slowly toward him with regularlyincreasing intensity, passed overhead at its loudest, and then grew moreand more quiet, wonderful, and solemn, as it fell away in the rear,until the note was merged in the deathlike silence of the forest. Itappeared to Maskull like the closing of a marvellous and importantchapter.

  Simultaneously with the fading away of the sound, the heavens seemed toopen up with the rapidity of lightning into a blue vault of immeasurableheight. He breathed a great breath, stretched all his limbs, and lookedaround him with a slow smile.

  After a while he resumed his journey. His brain was all dark andconfused, but one idea was already beginning to stand out from therest—huge, shapeless, and grand, like the growing image in the soul of acreative artist: the staggering thought that he was a man of destiny.

  The more he reflected upon all that had occurred since his arrival inthis new world—and even before leaving Earth—the clearer and moreindisputable 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 notimagine.

  Through the forest he saw Branchspell at last sinking in the west. Itlooked a stupendous ball of red fire—now he could realise at his easewhat a sun it was! The avenue took an abrupt turn to the left and beganto descend steeply.

  A wide, rolling river of clear and dark water was visible in front ofhim, no great way off. It flowed from north to south. The forest pathled him straight to its banks. Maskull stood there, and regarded thelapping, gurgling waters pensively. On the opposite bank, the forestcontinued. 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 ofcool wind, Maskull felt the stirrings of passion in his heart. In spiteof his bodily fatigue, he wished to test his strength against something.This craving he identified with the crags of the Marest. They seemed tohave the same magical attraction for his will as the lodestone for iron.He kept biting his nails, as he turned his eyes in thatdirection—wondering if it would not be possible to conquer the heightsthat evening. But when he glanced back again at Poolingdred, heremembered Joiwind and Panawe, and grew more tranquil. He decided tomake his bed at this spot, and to set off as soon after daybreak as heshould awake.

  He drank at the river, washed himself, and lay down on the bank tosleep. By this time, so far had his idea progressed, that he carednothing 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 wasawakened by a crimson glow in the sky. He opened his eyes, and wonderedwhere he was. He felt heaviness and pain. The red glow was a terrestrialphenomenon; it came from among the trees. He got up and went toward thesource of the light.

  Away from the river, not a hundred feet off, he nearly stumbled acrossthe form of a sleeping woman. The object which emitted the crimson rayswas lying on the ground, several yards away from her. It was like asmall jewel, throwing off sparks of red light. He barely threw a glanceat 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 thintentacle, but a third arm, terminating in a hand. Her face, which wasupturned, was wild, powerful, and exceedingly handsome. But he saw withsurprise that in place of a breve on her forehead, she possessed anothereye. All three were closed. The colour of her skin in the crimson glowhe could not distinguish.

  He touched her gently with his hand. She awoke calmly and looked up athim without stirring a muscle. All three eyes stared at him; but the twolower ones were dull and vacant—mere carriers of vision. The middle,upper one alone expressed her inner nature. Its haughty, unflinchingglare had yet something seductive and alluring in it. Maskull felt achallenge in that look of lordly, feminine will, and his mannerinstinctively 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 extremelycomplex?”

  She spoke in a rich, lingering, musical voice, which delighted him tolisten to.

  “No, but you have no breve.”

  “Well, but haven’t I a sorb, which is better?” And she pointed to theeye 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 soundof 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, “arewe, or are we not, to be friends?”

  She yawned and stretched her arms, without rising. “Why should we befriends? 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 hereyes.

  “What are you doing here?” he interrogated.

  “Oh, we Ifdawn folk occasionally come here to sleep, for there oftenenough it is a night for us which has no next morning.”

  “Being such a terrible place, and seeing that I am a total stranger, itwould be merely courteous if you were to warn me what I have to expectin 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 otherpeople, I would do a very necessary thing.”

  “Pray, tell me.”

  “Well, there’s no reason why I should, but I will. I would try toconvert 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 asorb, you are simply committing suicide. And that magn too is worse thanuseless.”

  “You probably know what you are talking about, Oceaxe. But what do youadvise 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 goodwhile, perhaps it will start the change, and perhaps nature will do therest during the night. I promise nothing.”

  Oceaxe now really turned her back on Maskull.

  He considered for a few minutes, and then walked over to where the stonewas lying, and took it in his hand. It was a pebble the size of a hen’segg, radiant with crimson light, as though red-hot, and throwing out acontinuous shower of small, blood-red sparks.

  Finally deciding that Oceaxe’s advice was good, he applied the drudefirst to his magn, and then to his breve. He experienced a cauterisingsensation—a feeling of healing pain.