The Golden Age of Science Fiction Novels Vol 02

by Anthology

  "I'll explain that too," said Panawe. "All creatures that resemble Shaping must of necessity resemble one another."

  "Then sporting is the blind will to become like Shaping?"

  "Exactly."

  "It is most wonderful," said Maskull. "Then the brotherhood of man is not a fable invented by idealists, but a solid fact."

  Joiwind looked at him, and changed colour. Panawe relapsed into sternness.

  Maskull became interested in a new phenomenon. The jale-coloured blossoms of a crystal bush were emitting mental waves, which with his breve he could clearly distinguish. They cried out silently, "To me To me!" While he looked, a flying worm guided itself through the air to one of these blossoms and began to suck its nectar. The floral cry immediately ceased.

  They now gained the crest of the mountain, and looked down beyond. A lake occupied its crater-like cavity. A fringe of trees partly intercepted the view, but Maskull was able to perceive that this mountain lake was nearly circular and perhaps a quarter of a mile across. Its shore stood a hundred feet below them.

  Observing that his hosts did not propose to descend, he begged them to wait for him, and scrambled down to the surface. When he got there, he found the water perfectly motionless and of a colourless transparency. He walked onto it, lay down at full length, and peered into the depths. It was weirdly clear: he could see down for an indefinite distance, without arriving at any bottom. Some dark, shadowy objects, almost out of reach of his eyes, were moving about. Then a sound, very faint and mysterious, seemed to come up through the gnawl water from an immense depth. It was like the rhythm of a drum. There were four beats of equal length, but the accent was on the third. It went on for a considerable time, and then ceased.

  The sound appeared to him to belong to a different world from that in which he was travelling. The latter was mystical, dreamlike, and unbelievable--the drumming was like a very dim undertone of reality. It resembled the ticking of a clock in a room full of voices, only occasionally possible to be picked up by the ear.

  He rejoined Panawe and Joiwind, but said nothing to them about his experience. They all walked round the rim of the crater, and gazed down on the opposite side. Precipices similar to those that had overlooked the desert here formed the boundary of a vast moorland plain, whose dimensions could not be measured by the eye. It was solid land, yet he could not make out its prevailing colour. It was as if made of transparent glass, but it did not glitter in the sunlight. No objects in it could be distinguished, except a rolling river in the far distance, and, farther off still, on the horizon, a line of dark mountains, of strange shapes. Instead of being rounded, conical, or hogbacked, these heights were carved by nature into the semblance of castle battlements, but with extremely deep indentations.

  The sky immediately above the mountains was of a vivid, intense blue. It contrasted in a most marvellous way with the blue of the rest of the heavens. It seemed more luminous and radiant, and was in fact like the afterglow of a gorgeous blue sunset.

  Maskull kept on looking. The more he gazed, the more restless and noble became his feelings.

  "What is that light?"

  Panawe was sterner than usual, while his wife clung to his arm. "It is Alppain--our second sun," he replied. "Those hills are the Ifdawn Marest.... Now let us get to our shelter."

  "Is it imagination, or am I really being affected--tormented by that light?"

  "No, it's not imagination--it's real. How can it be otherwise when two suns, of different natures, are drawing you at the same time? Luckily you are not looking at Alppain itself. It's invisible here. You would need to go at least as far as Ifdawn, to set eyes on it."

  "Why do you say 'luckily'?"

  "Because the agony caused by those opposing forces would perhaps be more than you could bear.... But I don't know."

  For the short distance that remained of their walk, Maskull was very thoughtful and uneasy. He understood nothing. Whatever object his eye chanced to rest on changed immediately into a puzzle. The silence and stillness of the mountain peak seemed brooding, mysterious, and waiting. Panawe gave him a friendly, anxious look, and without further delay led the way down a little track, which traversed the side of the mountain and terminated in the mouth of a cave.

  This cave was the home of Panawe and Joiwind. It was dark inside. The host took a shell and, filling it with liquid from a well, carelessly sprinkled the sandy floor of the interior. A greenish, phosphorescent light gradually spread to the furthest limits of the cavern, and continued to illuminate it for the whole time they were there. There was no furniture. Some dried, fernlike leaves served for couches.

  The moment she got in, Joiwind fell down in exhaustion. Her husband tended her with calm concern. He bathed her face, put drink to her lips, energised her with his magn, and finally laid her down to sleep. At the sight of the noble woman thus suffering on his account, Maskull was distressed.

  Panawe, however, endeavoured to reassure him. "It's quite true this has been a very long, hard double journey, but for the future it will lighten all her other journeys for her.... Such is the nature of sacrifice."

  "I can't conceive how I have walked so far in a morning," said Maskull, "and she has been twice the distance."

  "Love flows in her veins, instead of blood, and that's why she is so strong."

  "You know she gave me some of it?"

  "Otherwise you couldn't even have started."

  "I shall never forget that."

  The languorous beat of the day outside, the bright mouth of the cavern, the cool seclusion of the interior, with its pale green glow, invited Maskull to sleep. But curiosity got the better of his lassitude.

  "Will it disturb her if we talk?"

  "No."

  "But how do you feel?"

  "I require little sleep. In any case, it's more important that you should hear something about your new life. It's not all as innocent and idyllic as this. If you intend to go through, you ought to be instructed about the dangers."

  "Oh, I guessed as much. But how shall we arrange--shall I put questions, or will you tell me what you think is most essential?"

  Panawe motioned to Maskull to sit down on a pile of ferns, and at the same time reclined himself, leaning on one arm, with outstretched legs.

  "I will tell some incidents of my life. You will begin to learn from them what sort of place you have come to."

  "I shall be grateful," said Maskull, preparing himself to listen.

  Panawe paused for a moment or two, and then started his narrative in tranquil, measured, yet sympathetic tones.

  PANAWE'S STORY

  "My earliest recollection is of being taken, when three years old (that's equivalent to fifteen of your years, but we develop more slowly here), by my father and mother, to see Broodviol, the wisest man in Tormance. He dwelt in the great Wombflash Forest. We walked through trees for three days, sleeping at night. The trees grew taller as we went along, until the tops were out of sight. The trunks were of a dark red colour and the leaves were of pale ulfire. My father kept stopping to think. If left uninterrupted, he would remain for half a day in deep abstraction. My mother came out of Poolingdred, and was of a different stamp. She was beautiful, generous, and charming--but also active. She kept urging him on. This led to many disputes between them, which made me miserable. On the fourth day we passed through a part of the forest which bordered on the Sinking Sea. This sea is full of pouches of water that will not bear a man's weight, and as these light parts don't differ in appearance from the rest, it is dangerous to cross. My father pointed out a dim outline on the horizon, and told me it was Swaylone's Island. Men sometimes go there, but none ever return. In the evening of the same day we found Broodviol standing in a deep, miry pit in the forest, surrounded on all sides by trees three hundred feet high. He was a big gnarled, rugged, wrinkled, sturdy old man. His age at that time was a hundred and twenty of our years, or nearly six hundred of yours. His body was trilateral: he had three legs, three arms, and six eyes, plac
ed at equal distances all around his head. This gave him an aspect of great watchfulness and sagacity. He was standing in a sort of trance. I afterward heard this saying of his: 'To lie is to sleep, to sit is to dream, to stand is to think.' My father caught the infection, and fell into meditation, but my mother roused them both thoroughly. Broodviol scowled at her savagely, and demanded what she required. Then I too learned for the first time the object of our journey. I was a prodigy--that is to say, I was without sex. My parents were troubled over this, and wished to consult the wisest of men.

  "Old Broodviol smoothed his face, and said, 'This perhaps will not be so difficult. I will explain the marvel. Every man and woman among us is a walking murderer. If a male, he has struggled with and killed the female who was born in the same body with him--if a female, she has killed the male. But in this child the struggle is still continuing.'

  "'How shall we end it?' asked my mother.

  "'Let the child direct its will to the scene of the combat, and it will be of whichever sex it pleases.'

  "'You want, of course, to be a man, don't you?' said my mother to me earnestly.

  "'Then I shall be slaying your daughter, and that would be a crime.'

  "Something in my tone attracted Broodviol's notice.

  "'That was spoken, not selfishly, but magnanimously. Therefore the male must have spoken it, and you need not trouble further. Before you arrive home, the child will be a boy.'

  "My father walked away out of sight. My mother bent very low before Broodviol for about ten minutes, and he remained all that time looking kindly at her.

  "I heard that shortly afterward Alppain came into that land for a few hours daily. Broodviol grew melancholy, and died.

  "His prophecy came true--before we reached home, I knew the meaning of shame. But I have often pondered over his words since, in later years, when trying to understand my own nature; and I have come to the conclusion that, wisest of men as he was, he still did not see quite straight on this occasion. Between me and my twin sister, enclosed in one body, there never was any struggle, but instinctive reverence for life withheld both of us from fighting for existence. Hers was the stronger temperament, and she sacrificed herself--though not consciously--for me.

  "As soon as I comprehended this, I made a vow never to eat or destroy anything that contained life--and I have kept it ever since.

  "While I was still hardly a grown man, my father died. My mother's death followed immediately, and I hated the associations of the land. I therefore made up my mind to travel into my mother's country, where, as she had often told me, nature was most sacred and solitary.

  "One hot morning I came to Shaping's Causeway. It is so called either because Shaping once crossed it, or because of its stupendous character. It is a natural embankment, twenty miles long, which links the mountains bordering my homeland with the Ifdawn Marest. The valley lies below at a depth varying from eight to ten thousand feet--a terrible precipice on either side. The knife edge of the ridge is generally not much over a foot wide. The causeway goes due north and south. The valley on my right hand was plunged in shadow--that on my left was sparkling with sunlight and dew. I walked fearfully along this precarious path for some miles. Far to the east the valley was closed by a lofty tableland, connecting the two chains of mountains, but overtopping even the most towering pinnacles. This is called the Sant Levels. I was never there, but I have heard two curious facts concerning the inhabitants. The first is that they have no women; the second, that though they are addicted to travelling in other parts they never acquire habits of the peoples with whom they reside.

  "Presently I turned giddy, and lay at full length for a great while, clutching the two edges of the path with both hands, and staring at the ground I was lying on with wide-open eyes. When that passed I felt like a different man and grew conceited and gay. About halfway across I saw someone approaching me a long way off. This put fear into my heart again, for I did not see how we could very well pass. However, I went slowly on, and presently we drew near enough together for me to recognise the walker. It was Slofork, the so-called sorcerer. I had never met him before, but I knew him by his peculiarities of person. He was of a bright gamboge colour and possessed a very long, proboscis-like nose, which appeared to be a useful organ, but did not add to his beauty, as I knew beauty. He was dubbed 'sorcerer' from his wondrous skill in budding limbs and organs. The tale is told that one evening he slowly sawed his leg off with a blunt stone and then lay for two days in agony while his new leg was sprouting. He was not reputed to be a consistently wise man, but he had periodical flashes of penetration and audacity that none could equal.

  "We sat down and faced one another, about two yards apart.

  "'Which of us walks over the other?' asked Slofork. His manner was as calm as the day itself, but, to my young nature, terrible with hidden terrors. I smiled at him, but did not wish for this humiliation. We continued sitting thus, in a friendly way, for many minutes.

  "'What is greater than Pleasure?' he asked suddenly.

  "I was at an age when one wishes to be thought equal to any emergency, so, concealing my surprise, I applied myself to the conversation, as if it were for that purpose we had met.

  "'Pain,' I replied, 'for pain drives out pleasure.'

  "'What is greater than Pain?'

  "I reflected. 'Love. Because we will accept our loved one's share of pain.'

  "'But what is greater than Love?' he persisted.

  "'Nothing, Slofork.'

  "'And what is Nothing?'

  "'That you must tell me.'

  "'Tell you I will. This is Shaping's world. He that is a good child here, knows pleasure, pain, and love, and gets his rewards. But there's another world--not Shaping's and there all this is unknown, and another order of things reigns. That world we call Nothing--but it is not Nothing, but Something.'

  "There was a pause.

  "'I have heard,' said I, 'that you are good at growing and ungrowing organs?'

  "'That's not enough for me. Every organ tells me the same story. I want to hear different stories.'

  "'Is it true, what men say, that your wisdom flows and ebbs in pulses?'

  "'Quite true,' replied Slofork. 'But those you had it from did not add that they have always mistaken the flow for the ebb.'

  "'My experience is,' said I sententiously, 'that wisdom is misery.'

  "'Perhaps it is, young man, but you have never learned that, and never will. For you the world will continue to wear a noble, awful face. You will never rise above mysticism.... But be happy in your own way.'

  "Before I realised what he was doing, he jumped tranquilly from the path, down into the empty void. He crashed with ever-increasing momentum toward the valley below. I screeched, flung myself down on the ground, and shut my eyes.

  "Often have I wondered which of my ill-considered, juvenile remarks it was that caused this sudden resolution on his part to commit suicide. Whichever it might be, since then I have made it a rigid law never to speak for my own pleasure, but only to help others.

  "I came eventually to the Marest. I threaded its mazes in terror for four days. I was frightened of death, but still more terrified at the possibility of losing my sacred attitude toward life. When I was nearly through, and was beginning to congratulate myself, I stumbled across the third extraordinary personage of my experience--the grim Muremaker. It was under horrible circumstances. On an afternoon, cloudy and stormy, I saw, suspended in the air without visible support, a living man. He was hanging in an upright position in front of a cliff--a yawning gulf, a thousand feet deep, lay beneath his feet. I climbed as near as I could, and looked on. He saw me, and made a wry grimace, like one who wishes to turn his humiliation into humour. The spectacle so astounded me that I could not even grasp what had happened.

  "'I am Muremaker,' he cried in a scraping voice which shocked my ears. 'All my life I have sorbed others--now I am sorbed. Nuclamp and I fell out over a woman. Now Nuclamp holds me up like this. While the strength of h
is will lasts I shall remain suspended; but when he gets tired--and it can't be long now--I drop into those depths.'

  "Had it been another man, I would have tried to save him, but this ogre-like being was too well known to me as one who passed his whole existence in tormenting, murdering, and absorbing others, for the sake of his own delight. I hurried away, and did not pause again that day.

  "In Poolingdred I met Joiwind. We walked and talked together for a month, and by that time we found that we loved each other too well to part."

  Panawe stopped speaking.

  "That is a fascinating story," remarked Maskull. "Now I begin to know my way around better. But one thing puzzles me."

  "What's that?"

  "How it happens that men here are ignorant of tools and arts, and have no civilisation, and yet contrive to be social in their habits and wise in their thoughts."

  "Do you imagine, then, that love and wisdom spring from tools? But I see how it arises. In your world you have fewer sense organs, and to make up for the deficiency you have been obliged to call in the assistance of stones and metals. That's by no means a sign of superiority."

  "No, I suppose not," said Maskull, "but I see I have a great deal to unlearn."

  They talked together a little longer, and then gradually fell asleep. Joiwind opened her eyes, smiled, and slumbered again.

  Chapter 8.

  THE LUSION PLAIN

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

  They impressed him like a simple musical theme, the notes of which are widely separated in the scale; a spirit of rashness, daring, and adventure seemed to call to him from them. It was at that moment that the determination flashed into his heart to walk to the Marest and explore its dangers.

  He returned to the cavern to say good-by to his hosts.