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

gulf widened to two hundred feet. Three large rocks loomed up on the ledge opposite; they resembled three upright giants, standing motionless side by side on the extreme edge of the chasm. Corpang and Maskull drew nearer, and then Maskull saw that they were statues. Each was about thirty feet high, and the workmanship was of the rudest. They represented naked men, but the limbs and trunks had been barely chipped into shape⁠—the faces alone had had care bestowed on them, and even these faces were merely generalised. It was obviously the work of primitive artists. The statues stood erect with knees closed and arms hanging straight down their sides. All three were exactly alike.

As soon as they were directly opposite, Corpang halted.

“Is this a representation of your three Beings?” asked Maskull, awed by the spectacle in spite of his constitutional audacity.

“Ask no questions, but kneel,” replied Corpang. He dropped onto his own knees, but Maskull remained standing.

Corpang covered his eyes with one hand, and prayed silently. After a few minutes the light sensibly faded. Then Maskull knelt as well, but he continued looking.

It grew darker and darker, until all was like the blackest night. Sight and sound no longer existed; he was alone with his own spirit.

Then one of the three Colossi came slowly into sight again. But it had ceased to be a statue⁠—it was a living person. Out of the blackness of space a gigantic head and chest emerged, illuminated by a mystic, rosy glow, like a mountain peak bathed by the rising sun. As the light grew stronger Maskull saw that the flesh was translucent and that the glow came from within. The limbs of the apparition were wreathed in mist.

Before long the features of the face stood out distinctly. It was that of a beardless youth of twenty years. It possessed the beauty of a girl and the daring force of a man; it bore a mocking, cryptic smile. Maskull felt the fresh, mysterious thrill of mingled pain and rapture of one who awakes from a deep sleep in midwinter and sees the gleaming, dark, delicate colours of the half-dawn. The vision smiled, kept still, and looked beyond him. He began to shudder, with delight⁠—and many emotions. As he gazed, his poetic sensibility acquired such a nervous and indefinable character that he could endure it no more; he burst into tears.

When he looked up again the image had nearly disappeared, and in a few moments more he was plunged back into total darkness.

Shortly afterward a second statue reappeared. It too was transfigured into a living form, but Maskull was unable to see the details of its face and body, because of the brightness of the light that radiated from them. This light, which started as pale gold, ended as flaming golden fire. It illumined the whole underground landscape. The rock ledges, the cliffs, himself and Corpang on their knees, the two unlighted statues⁠—all appeared as if in sunlight, and the shadows were black and strongly defined. The light carried heat with it, but a singular heat. Maskull was unaware of any rise in temperature, but he felt his heart melting to womanish softness. His male arrogance and egotism faded imperceptibly away; his personality seemed to disappear. What was left behind was not freedom of spirit or lightheartedness, but a passionate and nearly savage mental state of pity and distress. He felt a tormenting desire to serve. All this came from the heat of the statue, and was without an object. He glanced anxiously around him, and fastened his eyes on Corpang. He put a hand on his shoulder and aroused him from his praying.

“You must know what I am feeling, Corpang.”

Corpang smiled sweetly, but said nothing.

“I care nothing for my own affairs any more. How can I help you?”

“So much the better for you, Maskull, if you respond so quickly to the invisible worlds.”

As soon as he had spoken, the figure began to vanish, and the light to die away from the landscape. Maskull’s emotion slowly subsided, but it was not until he was once more in complete darkness that he became master of himself again. Then he felt ashamed of his boyish exhibition of enthusiasm, and thought ruefully that there must be something wanting in his character. He got up onto his feet.

The very moment that he arose, a man’s voice sounded, not a yard from his ear. It was hardly raised above a whisper, but he could distinguish that it was not Corpang’s. As he listened he was unable to prevent himself from physically trembling.

“Maskull, you are to die,” said the unseen speaker.

“Who is speaking?”

“You have only a few hours of life left. Don’t trifle the time away.”

Maskull could bring nothing out.

“You have despised life,” went on the low-toned voice. “Do you really imagine that this mighty world has no meaning, and that life is a joke?”

“What must I do?”

“Repent your murders, commit no fresh ones, pay honour to⁠ ⁠…”

The voice died away. Maskull waited in silence for it to speak again. All remained still, however, and the speaker appeared to have taken his departure. Supernatural horror seized him; he fell into a sort of catalepsy.

At that moment he saw one of the statues fading away, from a pale, white glow to darkness. He had not previously seen it shining.

In a few more minutes the normal light of the land returned. Corpang got up, and shook him out of his trance.

Maskull looked around, but saw no third person. “Whose statue was the last?” he demanded.

“Did you hear me speaking?”

“I heard your voice, but no one else’s.”

“I’ve just had my death foretold, so I suppose I have not long to live. Leehallfae prophesied the same thing.”

Corpang shook his head. “What value do you set on life?” he asked.

“Very little. But it’s a fearful thing all the same.”

“Your death is?”

“No, but this warning.”

They stopped talking. A profound silence reigned. Neither of the two men seemed to know what to do next, or where to go. Then