The Golden Age of Science Fiction Novels Vol 02

by Anthology

  Maskull grinned, and said nothing. He dared not remove his arm.

  The shrowk straddled on to its legs. It jerked itself forward, and rose slowly and uncouthly in the air. They began to paddle upward toward the painted cliffs. The motion was swaying, rocking, and sickening; the contact of the brute's slimy skin was disgusting. All this, however, was merely, background to Maskull, as he sat there with closed eyes, holding on to Oceaxe. In the front and centre of his consciousness was the knowledge that he was gripping a fair woman, and that her flesh was responding to his touch like a lovely harp.

  They climbed up and up. He opened his eyes, and ventured to look around him. By this time they were already level with the top of the outer rampart of precipices. There now came in sight a wild archipelago of islands, with jagged outlines, emerging from a sea of air. The islands were mountain summits; or, more accurately speaking, the country was a high tableland, fissured everywhere by narrow and apparently bottomless cracks. These cracks were in some cases like canals, in others like lakes, in others merely holes in the ground, closed in all round. The perpendicular sides of the islands--that is, the upper, visible parts of the innumerable cliff faces--were of bare rock, gaudily coloured; but the level surfaces were a tangle of wild plant life. The taller trees alone were distinguishable from the shrowk's back. They were of different shapes, and did not look ancient; they were slender and swaying but did not appear very graceful; they looked tough, wiry, and savage.

  As Maskull continued to explore the landscape, he forgot Oceaxe and his passion. Other strange feelings came to the front. The morning was gay and bright. The sun scorched down, quickly-changing clouds sailed across the sky, the earth was vivid, wild, and lonely. Yet he experienced no aesthetic sensations--he felt nothing but an intense longing for action and possession. When he looked at anything, he immediately wanted to deal with it. The atmosphere of the land seemed not free, but sticky; attraction and repulsion were its constituents. Apart from this wish to play a personal part in what was going on around and beneath him, the scenery had no significance for him.

  So preoccupied was he, that his arm partly released its clasp. Oceaxe turned around to gaze at him. Whether or not she was satisfied with what she saw, she uttered a low laugh, like a peculiar chord.

  "Cold again so quickly, Maskull?"

  "What do you want?" he asked absently, still looking over the side. "It's extraordinary how drawn I feel to all this."

  "You wish to take a hand?"

  "I wish to get down."

  "Oh, we have a good way to go yet.... So you really feel different?"

  "Different from what? What are you talking about?" said Maskull, still lost in abstraction.

  Oceaxe laughed again. "It would be strange if we couldn't make a man of you, for the material is excellent."

  After that, she turned her back once more.

  The air islands differed from water islands in another way. They were not on a plane surface, but sloped upward, like a succession of broken terraces, as the journey progressed. The shrowk had hitherto been flying well above the ground; but now, when a new line of towering cliffs confronted them, Oceaxe did not urge the beast upward, but caused it to enter a narrow canyon, which intersected the mountains like a channel. They were instantly plunged into deep shade. The canal was not above thirty feet wide; the walls stretched upward on both sides for many hundred feet. It was as cool as an ice chamber. When Maskull attempted to plumb the chasm with his eyes, he saw nothing but black obscurity.

  "What is at the bottom?" he asked.

  "Death for you, if you go to look for it."

  "We know that. I mean, is there any kind of life down there?"

  "Not that I have ever heard of," said Oceaxe, "but of course all things are possible."

  "I think very likely there is life," he returned thoughtfully.

  Her ironical laugh sounded out of the gloom. "Shall we go down and see?"

  "You find that amusing?"

  "No, not that. What I do find amusing is the big stranger with the beard, who is so keenly interested in everything except himself."

  Maskull then laughed too. "I happen to be the only thing in Tormance which is not a novelty for me."

  "Yes, but I am a novelty for you."

  The channel went zigzagging its way through the belly of the mountain, and all the time they were gradually rising.

  "At least I have heard nothing like your voice before," said Maskull, who, since he had no longer anything to look at, was at last ready for conversation.

  "What's the matter with my voice?"

  "It's all that I can distinguish of you now; that's why I mentioned it."

  "Isn't it clear--don't I speak distinctly?"

  "Oh, it's clear enough, but--it's inappropriate."

  "Inappropriate?"

  "I won't explain further," said Maskull, "but whether you are speaking or laughing, your voice is by far the loveliest and strangest instrument I have ever listened to. And yet I repeat, it is inappropriate."

  "You mean that my nature doesn't correspond?"

  He was just considering his reply, when their talk was abruptly broken off by a huge and terrifying, but not very loud sound rising up from the gulf directly underneath them. It was a low, grinding, roaring thunder.

  "The ground is rising under us!" cried Oceaxe.

  "Shall we escape?"

  She made no answer, but urged the shrowk's flight upward, at such a steep gradient that they retained their seats with difficulty. The floor of the canyon, upheaved by some mighty subterranean force, could be heard, and almost felt, coming up after them, like a gigantic landslip in the wrong direction. The cliffs cracked, and fragments began to fall. A hundred awful noises filled the air, growing louder and louder each second--splitting, hissing, cracking, grinding, booming, exploding, roaring. When they had still fifty feet or so to go, to reach the top, a sort of dark, indefinite sea of broken rocks and soil appeared under their feet, ascending rapidly, with irresistible might, accompanied by the most horrible noises. The canal was filled up for two hundred yards, before and behind them. Millions of tons of solid matter seemed to be raised. The shrowk in its ascent was caught by the uplifted debris. Beast and riders experienced in that moment all the horrors of an earthquake--they were rolled violently over, and thrown among the rocks and dirt. All was thunder, instability, motion, confusion.

  Before they had time to realise their position, they were in the sunlight. The upheaval still continued. In another minute or two the valley floor had formed a new mountain, a hundred feet or more higher than the old. Then its movement ceased suddenly. Every noise stopped, as if by magic; not a rock moved. Oceaxe and Maskull picked themselves up and examined themselves for cuts and bruises. The shrowk lay on its side, panting violently, and sweating with fright.

  "That was a nasty affair," said Maskull, flicking the dirt off his person.

  Oceaxe staunched a cut on her chin with a corner of her robe.

  "It might have been far worse.... I mean, it's bad enough to come up, but it's death to go down, and that happens just as often."

  "Whatever induces you to live in such a country?"

  "I don't know, Maskull. Habit, I suppose. I have often thought of moving out of it."

  "A good deal must be forgiven you for having to spend your life in a place like this, where one is obviously never safe from one minute to another."

  "You will learn by degrees," she answered, smiling.

  She looked hard at the monster, and it got heavily to its feet.

  "Get on again, Maskull!" she directed, climbing back to her perch. "We haven't too much time to waste."

  He obeyed. They resumed their interrupted flight, this time over the mountains, and in full sunlight. Maskull settled down again to his thoughts. The peculiar atmosphere of the country continued to soak into his brain. His will became so restless and uneasy that merely to sit there in inactivity was a torture. He could scarcely endure not to be doing something.


  "How secretive you are, Maskull!" said Oceaxe quietly, without turning her head.

  "What secrets--what do you mean?"

  "Oh, I know perfectly well what's passing inside you. Now I think it wouldn't be amiss to ask you--is friendship still enough?"

  "Oh, don't ask me anything," growled Maskull. "I've far too many problems in my head already. I only wish I could answer some of them."

  He stared stonily at the landscape. The beast was winging its way toward a distant mountain, of singular shape. It was an enormous natural quadrilateral pyramid, rising in great terraces and terminating in a broad, flat top, on which what looked like green snow still lingered.

  "What mountain is that?" he asked.

  "Disscourn. The highest point in Ifdawn."

  "Are we going there?"

  "Why should we go there? But if you were going on farther, it might be worth your while to pay a visit to the top. It commands the whole land as far as the Sinking Sea and Swaylone's Island--and beyond. You can also see Alppain from it."

  "That's a sight I mean to see before I have finished."

  "Do you, Maskull?" She turned around and put her hand on his wrist. "Stay with me, and one day we'll go to Disscourn together."

  He grunted unintelligibly.

  There were no signs of human existence in the country under their feet. While Maskull was still grimly regarding it, a large tract of forest not far ahead, bearing many trees and rocks, suddenly subsided with an awful roar and crashed down into an invisible gulf. What was solid land one minute became a clean-cut chasm the next. He jumped violently up with the shock. "This is frightful."

  Oceaxe remained unmoved.

  "Why, life here must be absolutely impossible," he went on, when he had somewhat recovered himself. "A man would need nerves of steel.... Is there no means at all of foreseeing a catastrophe like this?"

  "Oh, I suppose we wouldn't be alive if there weren't," replied Oceaxe, with composure. "We are more or less clever at it--but that doesn't prevent our often getting caught."

  "You had better teach me the signs."

  "We'll have many things to go over together. And among them, I expect, will be whether we are to stay in the land at all.... But first let us get home."

  "How far is it now?"

  "It is right in front of you," said Oceaxe, pointing with her forefinger. "You can see it."

  He followed the direction of the finger and, after a few questions, made out the spot she was indicating. It was a broad peninsula, about two miles distant. Three of its sides rose sheer out of a lake of air, the bottom of which was invisible; its fourth was a bottleneck, joining it to the mainland. It was overgrown with bright vegetation, distinct in the brilliant atmosphere. A single tall tree, shooting up in the middle of the peninsula, dwarfed everything else; it was wide and shady with sea-green leaves.

  "I wonder if Crimtyphon is there," remarked Oceaxe. "Can I see two figures, or am I mistaken?"

  "I also see something," said Maskull.

  In twenty minutes they were directly above the peninsula, at a height of about fifty feet. The shrowk slackened speed, and came to earth on the mainland, exactly at the gateway of the isthmus. They both descended--Maskull with aching thighs.

  "What shall we do with the monster?" asked Oceaxe. Without waiting for a suggestion, she patted its hideous face with her hand. "Fly away home! I may want you some other time."

  It gave a stupid grunt, elevated itself on its legs again, and, after half running, half flying for a few yards, rose awkwardly into the air, and paddled away in the same direction from which they had come. They watched it out of sight, and then Oceaxe started to cross the neck of land, followed by Maskull.

  Branchspell's white rays beat down on them with pitiless force. The sky had by degrees become cloudless, and the wind had dropped entirely. The ground was a rich riot of vividly coloured ferns, shrubs, and grasses. Through these could be seen here and there the golden chalky soil--and occasionally a glittering, white metallic boulder. Everything looked extraordinary and barbaric. Maskull was at last walking in the weird Ifdawn Marest which had created such strange feelings in him when seen from a distance.... And now he felt no wonder or curiosity at all, but only desired to meet human beings--so intense had grown his will. He longed to test his powers on his fellow creatures, and nothing else seemed of the least importance to him.

  On the peninsula all was coolness and delicate shade. It resembled a large copse, about two acres in extent. In the heart of the tangle of small trees and undergrowth was a partially cleared space--perhaps the roots of the giant tree growing in the centre had killed off the smaller fry all around it. By the side of the tree sparkled a little, bubbling fountain, whose water was iron-red. The precipices on all sides, overhung with thorns, flowers, and creepers, invested the enclosure with an air of wild and charming seclusion--a mythological mountain god might have dwelt here.

  Maskull's restless eye left everything, to fall on the two men who formed the centre of the picture.

  One was reclining, in the ancient Grecian fashion of banqueters on a tall couch of mosses, sprinkled with flowers; he rested on one arm, and was eating a kind of plum, with calm enjoyment. A pile of these plums lay on the couch beside him. The over-spreading branches of the tree completely sheltered him from the sun. His small, boyish form was clad in a rough skin, leaving his limbs naked. Maskull could not tell from his face whether he were a young boy or a grown man. The features were smooth, soft, and childish, their expression was seraphically tranquil; but his violet upper eye was sinister and adult. His skin was of the colour of yellow ivory. His long, curling hair matched his sorb--it was violet. The second man was standing erect before the other, a few feet away from him. He was short and muscular, his face was broad, bearded, and rather commonplace, but there was something terrible about his appearance. The features were distorted by a deep-seated look of pain, despair, and horror.

  Oceaxe, without pausing, strolled lightly and lazily up to the outermost shadows of the tree, some distance from the couch.

  "We have met with an uplift," she remarked carelessly, looking toward the youth.

  He eyed her, but said nothing.

  "How is your plant man getting on?" Her tone was artificial but extremely beautiful. While waiting for an answer, she sat down on the ground, her legs gracefully thrust under her body, and pulled down the skirt of her robe. Maskull remained standing just behind her, with crossed arms.

  There was silence for a minute.

  "Why don't you answer your mistress, Sature?" said the boy on the couch, in a calm, treble voice.

  The man addressed did not alter his expression, but replied in a strangled tone, "I am getting on very well, Oceaxe. There are already buds on my feet. Tomorrow I hope to take root."

  Maskull felt a rising storm inside him. He was perfectly aware that although these words were uttered by Sature, they were being dictated by the boy.

  "What he says is quite true," remarked the latter. "Tomorrow roots will reach the ground, and in a few days they ought to be well established. Then I shall set to work to convert his arms into branches, and his fingers into leaves. It will take longer to transform his head into a crown, but still I hope--in fact I can almost promise that within a month you and I, Oceaxe, will be plucking and enjoying fruit from this new and remarkable tree."

  "I love these natural experiments," he concluded, putting out his hand for another plum. "They thrill me."

  "This must be a joke," said Maskull, taking a step forward.

  The youth looked at him serenely. He made no reply, but Maskull felt as if he were being thrust backward by an iron hand on his throat.

  "The morning's work is now concluded, Sature. Come here again after Blodsombre. After tonight you will remain here permanently, I expect, so you had better set to work to clear a patch of ground for your roots. Never forget--however fresh and charming these plants appear to you now, in the future they will be your deadliest rivals and enemies. Now you ma
y go."

  The man limped painfully away, across the isthmus, out of sight. Oceaxe yawned.

  Maskull pushed his way forward, as if against a wall. "Are you joking, or are you a devil?"

  "I am Crimtyphon. I never joke. For that epithet of yours, I will devise a new punishment for you."

  The duel of wills commenced without ceremony. Oceaxe got up, stretched her beautiful limbs, smiled, and prepared herself to witness the struggle between her old lover and her new. Crimtyphon smiled too; he reached out his hand for more fruit, but did not eat it. Maskull's self-control broke down and he dashed at the boy, choking with red fury--his beard wagged and his face was crimson. When he realised with whom he had to deal, Crimtyphon left off smiling, slipped off the couch, and threw a terrible and malignant glare into his sorb. Maskull staggered. He gathered together all the brute force of his will, and by sheer weight continued his advance. The boy shrieked and ran behind the couch, trying to get away.... His opposition suddenly collapsed. Maskull stumbled forward, recovered himself, and then vaulted clear over the high pile of mosses, to get at his antagonist. He fell on top of him with all his bulk. Grasping his throat, he pulled his little head completely around, so that the neck was broken. Crimtyphon immediately died.

  The corpse lay underneath the tree with its face upturned. Maskull viewed it attentively, and as he did so an expression of awe and wonder came into his own countenance. In the moment of death Crimtyphon's face had undergone a startling and even shocking alteration. Its personal character had wholly vanished, giving place to a vulgar, grinning mask which expressed nothing.

  He did not have to search his mind long, to remember where he had seen the brother of that expression. It was identical with that on the face of the apparition at the seance, after Krag had dealt with it.

  Chapter 10.

  TYDOMIN

  Oceaxe sat down carelessly on the couch of mosses, and began eating the plums.

  "You see, you had to kill him, Maskull," she said, in a rather quizzical voice.

  He came away from the corpse and regarded her--still red, and still breathing hard. "It's no joking matter. You especially ought to keep quiet."