A Voyage to Arcturus by David Lindsay (the best electronic book reader TXT) 📖

Sullenbode’s grave. He had interred her by the light of the moon, with a long, flat stone for a spade. A little lower down, the white steam of a hot spring was curling about in the twilight. From where he sat he was unable to see the pool into which the spring ultimately flowed, but it was in that pool that he had last night washed first of all the dead girl’s body, and then his own.

He got up, yawned again, stretched himself, and looked around him dully. For a long time he eyed the grave. The half-darkness changed by imperceptible degrees to full day; the sun was about to appear. The sky was nearly cloudless. The whole wonderful extent of the mighty ridge behind him began to emerge from the morning mist... there was a part of Sarclash, and the ice-green crest of gigantic Adage itself, which he could only take in by throwing his head right back.

He gazed at everything in weary apathy, like a lost soul. All his desires were gone forever; he wished to go nowhere, and to do nothing. He thought he would go to Barey.

He went to the warm pool, to wash the sleep out of his eyes. Sitting beside it, watching the bubbles, was Krag.

Maskull thought that he was dreaming. The man was clothed in a skin shirt and breeches. His face was stern, yellow, and ugly. He eyed Maskull without smiling or getting up.

“Where in the devil’s name have you come from, Krag?”

“The great point is, I am here.”

“Where’s Nightspore?”

“Not far away.”

“It seems a hundred years since I saw you. Why did you two leave me in such a damnable fashion?”

“You were strong enough to get through alone.”

“So it turned out, but how were you to know?.... Anyway, you’ve timed it well. It seems I am to die today.”

Krag scowled. “You will die this morning.”

“If I am to, I shall. But where have you heard it from?”

“You are ripe for it. You have run through the gamut. What else is there to live for?”

“Nothing,” said Maskull, uttering a short laugh. “I am quite ready. I have failed in everything. I only wondered how you knew.... So now you’ve come to rejoin me. Where are we going?”

“Through Barey.”

“And what about Nightspore?”

Krag jumped to his feet with clumsy agility. “We won’t wait for him. He’ll be there as soon as we shall.”

“Where?”

“At our destination.... Come! The sun’s rising.”

As they started clambering down the pass side by side, Branchspell, huge and white, leaped fiercely into the sky. All the delicacy of the dawn vanished, and another vulgar day began. They passed some trees and plants, the leaves of which were all curled up, as if in sleep.

Maskull pointed them out to his companion.

“How is it the sunshine doesn’t open them?”

“Branchspell is a second night to them. Their day is Alppain.”

“How long will it be before that sun rises?”

“Some time yet.”

“Shall I live to see it, do you think?”

“Do you want to?”

“At one time I did, but now I’m indifferent.”

“Keep in that humour, and you’ll do well. Once for all, there’s nothing worth seeing on Tormance.”

After a few minutes Maskull said, “Why did we come here, then?”

“To follow Surtur.”

“True. But where is he?”

“Closer at hand than you think, perhaps.”

“Do you know that he is regarded as a god here, Krag?... There is supernatural fire, too, which I have been led to believe is somehow connected with him.... Why do you keep up the mystery? Who and what is Surtur?”

“Don’t disturb yourself about that. You will never know.”

“Do you know?”

“I know,” snarled Krag.

“The devil here is called Krag,” went on Maskull, peering into his face.

“As long as pleasure is worshiped, Krag will always be the devil.”

“Here we are, talking face to face, two men together.... What am I to believe of you?”

“Believe your senses. The real devil is Crystalman.”

They continued descending the landslip. The sun’s rays had grown insufferably hot. In front of them, down below in the far distance, Maskull saw water and land intermingled. It appeared that they were travelling toward a lake district.

“What have you and Nightspore been doing during the last four days, Krag? What happened to the torpedo?”

“You’re just about on the same mental level as a man who sees a brand-new palace, and asks what has become of the scaffolding.”

“What palace have you been building, then?”

“We have not been idle,” said Krag. “While you have been murdering and lovemaking, we have had our work.”

“And how have you been made acquainted with my actions?”

“Oh, you’re an open book. Now you’ve got a mortal heart wound on account of a woman you knew for six hours.”

Maskull turned pale. “Sneer away, Krag! If you lived with a woman for six hundred years and saw her die, that would never touch your leather heart. You haven’t even the feelings of an insect.”

“Behold the child defending its toys!” said Krag, grinning faintly.

Maskull stopped short. “What do you want with me, and why did you bring me here?”

“It’s no use stopping, even for the sake of theatrical effect,” said Krag, pulling him into motion again. “The distance has got to be covered, however often we pull up.”

When he touched him, Maskull felt a terrible shooting pain through his heart.

“I can’t go on regarding you as a man, Krag. You’re something more than a man—whether good or evil, I can’t say.”

Krag looked yellow and formidable. He did not reply to Maskull’s remark, but after a pause said, “So you’ve been trying to find Surtur on your own account, during the intervals between killing and fondling?”

“What was that drumming?” demanded Maskull.

“You needn’t look so important. We