Voyage to Arcturus

by David Lindsay

  "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 WOMBFLASHFOREST

  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.

  While he was standing there, anxious and hesitating, he heard the drum taps. The rhythmical beats proceeded from some distance off. The unseen drummer seemed to be marching through the forest, away from him.

  "Surtur!" he said, under his breath. The next moment he marvelled at himself for uttering the name. That mysterious being had not been in his thoughts, nor was there any ostensible connection between him and the drumming.

  He began to reflect - but in the meantime the sounds were travelling away. Automatically he started walking in the same direction. The drum beats had this peculiarity - though odd and mystical, there was nothing awe-inspiring in them, but on the contrary they reminded him of some place and some life with which he was perfectly familiar. Once again they caused all his other sense impressions to appear false.

  The sounds were intermittent. They would go on for a minute, or for five minutes, and then cease for perhaps a quarter of an hour. Maskull followed them as well as he could. He walked hard among the huge, indistinct trees, in the attempt to come up with the origin of the noise, but the same distance always seemed to separate them. The forest from now onward descended. The gradient was mostly gentle - about one foot in ten - but in some places it was much steeper, and in other parts again it was practically level ground for quite long stretches. There were great swampy marshes, through which Maskull was obliged to splash. It was a matter of indifference to him how wet he became - if only he could catch sight of that individual with the drum. Mile after mile was covered, and still he was no nearer to doing so.

  The gloom of the forest settled down upon his spirits. He felt despondent, tired, and savage. He had not heard the drum beats for some while, and was half inclined to discontinue the pursuit.

  Passing around a great, columnar tree trunk, he almost stumbled against a man who was standing on the farther side. He was leaning against the trunk with one hand, in an attitude of repose. His other hand was resting on a staff. Maskull stopped short and started at him.

  He was nearly naked, and of gigantic build. He over-topped Maskull by a head. His face and body were faintly phosphorescent. His eyes - three in number - were pale green and luminous, shining like lamps. His skin was hairless, but the hair of his head was piled up in thick, black coils, and fastened like a woman's. His features were absolutely tranquil, but a terrible, quiet energy seemed to lie just underneath the surface.

  Maskull addressed him. "Did the drumming come from you?"

  The man shook his head.

  "What is your name?"

  He replied in a strange, strained, twisted voice. Maskull gathered that the name he gave was "Dreamsinter."

  "What is that drumming?"

  "Surtur," said Dreamsinter.

  "Is it advisable for me to follow it?"

  "Why?"

  "Perhaps he intends me to. He brought me here from Earth."

  Dreamsinter caught hold of him, bent down, and peered into his face.

  "Not you, but Nightspore."

  This was the first time that Maskull had heard Nightspore's name since his arrival on the planet. He was so astonished that he could frame no more questions.

  "Eat this," said Dreamsinter. "Then we will chase the sound together." He picked something up from the ground and handed it to Maskull. He could not see distinctly, but it felt like a hard, round nut, of the size of a fist.

  "I can't crack it."

  Dreamsinter took it between his hands, and broke it into pieces. Maskull then ate some of the pulpy interior, which was intensely disagreeable.

  "What am I doing in Tormance, then?" he asked.

  "You came to steal Muspel-fire, to give a deeper life to men - never doubting if your soul could endure that burning."

  Maskull could hardly decipher the strangled words.

  "Muspel… That's the name I've been trying to remember ever since I awoke."

  Dreamsinter suddenly turned his head sideways, and appeared to listen for something. He motioned with his hand to Maskull to keep quiet.

  "Is it the drumming?"

  "Hush! They come."

  He was looking toward the upper forest. The now familiar drum rhythm was heard - this time accompanied by the tramp of marching feet.

  Maskull saw, marching through the trees and heading toward them, three men in single file separated from one another by only a yard or so. They were travelling down hill at a swift pace, and looked neither to left nor right. They were naked. Their figures were shining against the black background of the forest with a pale, supernatural light - green and ghostly. When they were abreast of him, about twenty feet off, he perceived who they were. The first man was himself - Maskull. The second was Krag. The third man was Nightspore. Their faces were grim and set.

  The source of the drumming was out of sight. The sound appeared to come from some point in front of them. Maskull and Dreamsinter put themselves in motion, to keep up with the swiftly moving marchers. At the same time a low, faint music began.

  Its rhythm stepped with the drum beats, but, unlike the latter, it did not seem to proceed from any particular quarter of the forest. It resembled the subjective music heard in dreams, which accompanies the dreamer everywhere, as a sort of natural atmosphere, rendering all his experiences emotional. It seemed to issue from an unearthly orchestra, and was strongly troubled, pathetic and tragic. Maskull marched, and listened; and as he listened, it grew louder and stormier. But the pulse of the drum interpenetrated all the other sounds, like the quiet beating of reality.

  His emotion deepened. He could not have said if minutes or hours were passing. The spectral procession marched on, a little way ahead, on a path parallel with his own and Dreamsinter's. The music pulsated violently. Krag lifted his arm, and displayed a long, murderous-looking knife. He sprang forward and, raising it over the phantom Maskull's back, stabbed him twice, leaving the knife in the wound the second time. Maskull threw up his arms, and fell down dead. Krag leaped into the forest and vanished from sight. Nightspore marched on alone, stern and unmoved.

  The music rose to crescendo. The whole dim, gigantic forest was roaring with sound. The tones came from all sides, from above, from the ground under their feet. It was so grandly passionate that Maskull felt his soul loosening from its bodily envelope.

  He continued to follow Nightspore. A strange brightness began to glow in front of them. It was not daylight, but a radiance such as he had never seen before, and such as he could not have imagined to be possible. Nightspore moved straight toward it. Maskull felt his chest bursting. The light flashed higher. The awful harmonies of the music followed hard one upon another, like the waves of a wild, magic ocean… His body was incapable of enduring such shocks, and all of a sudden he tumbled over in a faint t
hat resembled death.

  Chapter 14

  POLECRAB

  The morning slowly passed. Maskull made some convulsive movements, and opened his eyes. He sat up, blinking. All was night-like and silent in the forest. The strange light had gone, the music had ceased, Dreamsinter had vanished. He fingered his beard, clotted with Tydomin's blood, and fell into a deep muse.

  "According to Panawe and Catice, this forest contains wise men. Perhaps Dreamsinter was one. Perhaps that vision I have just seen was a specimen of his wisdom. It looked almost like an answer to my question… I ought not to have asked about myself, but about Surtur. Then I would have got a different answer. I might have learned something… I might have seen him."

  He remained quiet and apathetic for a bit.

  "But I couldn't face that awful glare," he proceeded. "It was bursting my body. He warned me, too. And so Surtur does really exist, and my journey stands for something. But why am I here, and what can I do? Who is Surtur? Where is he to be found?"

  Something wild came into his eyes.

  "What did Dreamsinter mean by his 'Not you, but Nightspore'? Am I a secondary character - is he regarded as important; and I as unimportant? Where is Nightspore, and what is he doing? Am I to wait for his time and pleasure - can I originate nothing?"

  He continued sitting up, with straight-extended legs.

  "I must make up my mind that this is a strange journey, and that the strangest things will happen in it. It's no use making plans, for I can't see two steps ahead - everything is unknown. But one thing's evident: nothing but the wildest audacity will carry me through, and I must sacrifice everything else to that. And therefore if Surtur shows himself again, I shall go forward to meet him, even if it means death."

  Through the black, quiet aisles of the forest the drum beats came again. The sound was a long way off and very faint. It was like the last mutterings of thunder after a heavy storm. Maskull listened, without getting up. The drumming faded into silence, and did not return.