A Voyage to Arcturus by David Lindsay (the false prince series .TXT) 📕

slow, heavy drum, and he thrilled all over⁠—indescribable hopes, aspirations, and emotions came over him. It was more than the conquest of a new world which he felt⁠—it was something different.⁠ ⁠…

He bathed and drank, and as he was reclothing himself, Oceaxe strolled indolently up.

He could now perceive the colour of her skin⁠—it was a vivid, yet delicate mixture of carmine, white, and jale. The effect was startlingly unearthly. With these new colours she looked like a genuine representative of a strange planet. Her frame also had something curious about it. The curves were womanly, the bones were characteristically female⁠—yet all seemed somehow to express a daring, masculine underlying will. The commanding eye on her forehead set the same puzzle in plainer language. Its bold, domineering egotism was shot with undergleams of sex and softness.

She came to the river’s edge and reviewed him from top to toe. “Now you are built more like a man,” she said, in her lovely, lingering voice.

“You see, the experiment was successful,” he answered, smiling gaily.

Oceaxe continued looking him over. “Did some woman give you that ridiculous robe?”

“A woman did give it to me”⁠—dropping his smile⁠—“but I saw nothing ridiculous in the gift at the time, and I don’t now.”

“I think I’d look better in it.”

As she drawled the words, she began stripping off the skin, which suited her form so well, and motioned to him to exchange garments. He obeyed, rather shamefacedly, for he realised that the proposed exchange was in fact more appropriate to his sex. He found the skin a freer dress. Oceaxe in her drapery appeared more dangerously feminine to him.

“I don’t want you to receive gifts at all from other women,” she remarked slowly.

“Why not? What can I be to you?”

“I have been thinking about you during the night.” Her voice was retarded, scornful, viola-like. She sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree, and looked away.

“In what way?”

She returned no answer to his question, but began to pull off pieces of the bark.

“Last night you were so contemptuous.”

“Last night is not today. Do you always walk through the world with your head over your shoulder?”

It was now Maskull’s turn to be silent.

“Still, if you have male instincts, as I suppose you have, you can’t go on resisting me forever.”

“But this is preposterous,” said Maskull, opening his eyes wide. “Granted that you are a beautiful woman⁠—we can’t be quite so primeval.”

Oceaxe sighed, and rose to her feet. “It doesn’t matter. I can wait.”

“From that I gather that you intend to make the journey in my society. I have no objection⁠—in fact I shall be glad⁠—but only on condition that you drop this language.”

“Yet you do think me beautiful?”

“Why shouldn’t I think so, if it is the fact? I fail to see what that has to do with my feelings. Bring it to an end, Oceaxe. You will find plenty of men to admire⁠—and love you.”

At that she blazed up. “Does love pick and choose, you fool? Do you imagine I am so hard put to it that I have to hunt for lovers? Is not Crimtyphon waiting for me at this very moment?”

“Very well. I am sorry to have hurt your feelings. Now carry the temptation no farther⁠—for it is a temptation, where a lovely woman is concerned. I am not my own master.”

“I’m not proposing anything so very hateful, am I? Why do you humiliate me so?”

Maskull put his hands behind his back. “I repeat, I am not my own master.”

“Then who is your master?”

“Yesterday I saw Surtur, and from today I am serving him.”

“Did you speak with him?” she asked curiously.

“I did.”

“Tell me what he said.”

“No, I can’t⁠—I won’t. But whatever he said, his beauty was more tormenting than yours, Oceaxe, and that’s why I can look at you in cold blood.”

“Did Surtur forbid you to be a man?”

Maskull frowned. “Is love such a manly sport, then? I should have thought it effeminate.”

“It doesn’t matter. You won’t always be so boyish. But don’t try my patience too far.”

“Let us talk about something else⁠—and, above all, let us get on our road.”

She suddenly broke into a laugh, so rich, sweet, and enchanting, that he grew half inflamed, and half wished to catch her body in his arms. “Oh, Maskull, Maskull⁠—what a fool you are!”

“In what way am I a fool?” he demanded, scowling not at her words, but at his own weakness.

“Isn’t the whole world the handiwork of innumerable pairs of lovers? And yet you think yourself above all that. You try to fly away from nature, but where will you find a hole to hide yourself in?”

“Besides beauty, I now credit you with a second quality: persistence.”

“Read me well, and then it is natural law that you’ll think twice and three times before throwing me away.⁠ ⁠… And now, before we go, we had better eat.”

“Eat?” said Maskull thoughtfully.

“Don’t you eat? Is food in the same category as love?”

“What food is it?”

“Fish from the river.”

Maskull recollected his promise to Joiwind. At the same time, he felt hungry.

“Is there nothing milder?”

She pulled her mouth scornfully. “You came through Poolingdred, didn’t you? All the people there are the same. They think life is to be looked at, and not lived. Now that you are visiting Ifdawn, you will have to change your notions.”

“Go catch your fish,” he returned, pulling down his brows.

The broad, clear waters flowed past them with swelling undulations, from the direction of the mountains. Oceaxe knelt down on the bank, and peered into the depths. Presently her look became tense and concentrated; she dipped her hand in and pulled out some sort of little monster. It was more like a reptile than a fish, with its scaly plates and teeth. She threw it on the ground, and it started crawling about. Suddenly she darted all her will into her sorb. The creature leaped into the air, and fell down dead.

She picked up a sharp-edged slate, and with it removed the scales and entrails. During