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

nothing. He may turn out to be the most remarkable of the bunch.”

Maskull took the child in one hand, and lifted him as high as his head. He took a good look at him, and set him down again. The boy never changed countenance.

“What do you make of him?” asked the fisherman.

“It’s on the tip of my tongue to say, but it just escapes me. Let me drink again, and then I shall have it.”

“Go and drink, then.”

Maskull strode over to the tree, drank, and returned. “In ages to come,” he said, speaking deliberately, “he will be a grand and awful tradition. A seer possibly, or even a divinity. Watch over him well.”

The eldest boy looked scornful. “I want to be none of those things. I would like to be like that big fellow.” And he pointed his finger at Maskull.

He laughed, and showed his white teeth through his beard. “Thanks for the compliments, old warrior!” he said.

“He’s great and brawny,” continued the boy, “and can hold his own with other men. Can you hold me up with one arm, as you did that child?”

Maskull complied.

“That is being a man!” exclaimed the boy. “Enough!” said Polecrab impatiently. “I called you lads here to say goodbye to your mother. She is going away with this man. I think she may not return, but we don’t know.”

The second boy’s face became suddenly inflamed. “Is she going of her own choice?” he inquired.

“Yes,” replied the father.

“Then she is bad.” He brought the words out with such force and emphasis that they sounded like the crack of a whip.

The old man cuffed him twice. “Is it your mother you are speaking of?”

The boy stood his ground, without change of expression, but said nothing.

The youngest child spoke, for the first time. “My mother will not come back, but she will die dancing.”

Polecrab and his wife looked at one another.

“Where are you going to, Mother?” asked the eldest lad.

Gleameil bent down, and kissed him. “To the Island.”

“Well then, if you don’t come back by tomorrow morning, I will go and look for you.”

Maskull grew more and more uneasy in his mind. “This seems to me to be a man’s journey,” he said. “I think it would be better for you not to come, Gleameil.”

“I am not to be dissuaded,” she replied.

He stroked his beard in perplexity. “Is it time to start?”

“It wants four hours to sunset, and we shall need all that.”

Maskull sighed. “I’ll go to the mouth of the creek, and wait there for you and the raft. You will wish to make your farewells, Gleameil.”

He then clasped Polecrab by the hand. “Adieu, fisherman!”

“You have repaid me well for my answers,” said the old man gruffly. “But it’s not your fault, and in Shaping’s world the worst things happen.”

The eldest boy came close to Maskull, and frowned at him. “Farewell, big man!” he said. “But guard my mother well, as well as you are well able to, or I shall follow you, and kill you.”

Maskull walked slowly along the creek bank till he came to the bend. The glorious sunshine, and the sparkling, brilliant sea then met his eyes again; and all melancholy was swept out of his mind. He continued as far as the seashore, and issuing out of the shadows of the forest, strolled on to the sands, and sat down in the full sunlight. The radiance of Alppain had long since disappeared. He drank in the hot, invigorating wind, listened to the hissing waves, and stared over the coloured sea with its pinnacles and currents, at Swaylone’s Island.

“What music can that be, which tears a wife and mother away from all she loves the most?” he meditated. “It sounds unholy. Will it tell me what I want to know? Can it?”

In a little while he became aware of a movement behind him, and, turning his head, he saw the raft floating along the creek, toward the open sea. Polecrab was standing upright, propelling it with a rude pole. He passed by Maskull, without looking at him, or making any salutation, and proceeded out to sea.

While he was wondering at this strange behaviour, Gleameil and the boys came in sight, walking along the bank of the inlet. The eldest-born was holding her hand, and talking; and the other two were behind. She was calm and smiling, but seemed abstracted.

“What is your husband doing with the raft?” asked Maskull.

“He’s putting it in position and we shall wade out and join it,” she answered, in her low-toned voice.

“But how shall we make the island, without oars or sails?”

“Don’t you see that current running away from land? See, he is approaching it. That will take us straight there.”

“But how can you get back?”

“There is a way; but we need not think of that today.”

“Why shouldn’t I come too?” demanded the eldest boy.

“Because the raft won’t carry three. Maskull is a heavy man.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said the boy. “I know where there is wood for another raft. As soon as you have gone, I shall set to work.”

Polecrab had by this time manoeuvred his flimsy craft to the position he desired, within a few yards of the current, which at that point made a sharp bend from the east. He shouted out some words to his wife and Maskull. Gleameil kissed her children convulsively, and broke down a little. The eldest boy bit his lip till it bled, and tears glistened in his eyes; but the younger children stared wide-eyed, and displayed no emotion.

Gleameil now walked into the sea, followed by Maskull. The water covered first their ankles, then their knees, but when it came as high as their waists, they were close on the raft. Polecrab let himself down into the water, and assisted his wife to climb over the side. When she was up, she bent down and kissed him. No words were exchanged. Maskull scrambled up on to the front part of the raft. The woman sat cross-legged in the stem, and seized the