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

the brilliant late-afternoon sunshine. Corpang followed closely at his heels, He was obliged to shield his eyes with his hands for a few minutes, so unaccustomed was he to Branchspell’s blinding rays.

“The drum beats have stopped!” he exclaimed suddenly.

“You can’t expect music all the time,” answered Maskull dryly. “We mustn’t be luxurious.”

“But now we have no guide. We’re no better off than before.”

“Well, Tormance is a big place. But I have an infallible rule, Corpang. As I come from the south, I always go due north.”

“That will take us to Lichstorm.”

Maskull gazed at the fantastically piled rocks all around them. “I saw these rocks from Matterplay. The mountains look as far off now as they did them, and there’s not much of the day left. How far is Lichstorm from here?”

Corpang looked away to the distant range. “I don’t know, but unless a miracle happens we shan’t get there tonight.”

“I have a feeling,” said Maskull, “that we shall not only get there tonight, but that tonight will be the most important in my life.”

And he sat down passively to rest.

XVIII Haunte

While Maskull sat, Corpang walked restlessly to and fro, swinging his arms. He had lost his staff. His face was inflamed with suppressed impatience, which accentuated its natural coarseness. At last he stopped short in front of Maskull and looked down at him. “What do you intend to do?”

Maskull glanced up and idly waved his hand toward the distant mountains. “Since we can’t walk, we must wait.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know.⁠ ⁠… How’s this, though? Those peaks have changed colour, from red to green.”

“Yes, the lich wind is travelling this way.”

“The lich wind?”

“It’s the atmosphere of Lichstorm. It always clings to the mountains, but when the wind blows from the north it comes as far as Threal.”

“It’s a sort of fog, then?”

“A peculiar sort, for they say it excites the sexual passions.”

“So we are to have lovemaking,” said Maskull, laughing.

“Perhaps you won’t find it so joyous,” replied Corpang a little grimly.

“But tell me⁠—these peaks, how do they preserve their balance?”

Corpang gazed at the distant, overhanging summits, which were fast fading into obscurity.

“Passion keeps them from falling.”

Maskull laughed again; he was feeling a strange disturbance of spirit. “What, the love of rock for rock?”

“It is comical, but true.”

“We’ll take a closer peep at them presently. Beyond the mountains is Barey, is it not?”

“Yes.”

“And then the Ocean. But what is the name of that Ocean?”

“That is told only to those who die beside it.”

“Is the secret so precious, Corpang?”

Branchspell was nearing the horizon in the west; there were more than two hours of daylight remaining. The air all around them became murky. It was a thin mist, neither damp nor cold. The Lichstorm Range now appeared only as a blur on the sky. The air was electric and tingling, and was exciting in its effect. Maskull felt a sort of emotional inflammation, as though a very slight external cause would serve to overturn his self-control. Corpang stood silent with a mouth like iron.

Maskull kept looking toward a high pile of rocks in the vicinity.

“That seems to me a good watchtower. Perhaps we shall see something from the top.”

Without waiting for his companion’s opinion, he began to scramble up the tower, and in a few minutes was standing on the summit. Corpang joined him.

From their viewpoint they saw the whole countryside sloping down to the sea, which appeared as a mere flash of far-off, glittering water. Leaving all that, however, Maskull’s eyes immediately fastened themselves on a small, boat-shaped object, about two miles away, which was travelling rapidly toward them, suspended only a few feet in the air.

“What do you make of that?” he asked in a tone of astonishment.

Corpang shook his head and said nothing.

Within two minutes the flying object, whatever it was, had diminished the distance between them by one half. It resembled a boat more and more, but its flight was erratic, rather than smooth; its nose was continually jerking upward and downward, and from side to side. Maskull now made out a man sitting in the stern, and what looked like a large dead animal lying amidships. As the aerial craft drew nearer, he observed a thick, blue haze underneath it, and a similar haze behind, but the front, facing them, was clear.

“Here must be what we are waiting for, Corpang. But what on earth carries it?”

He stroked his beard contemplatively, and then, fearing that they had not been seen, stepped onto the highest rock, bellowed loudly, and made wild motions with his arm. The flying-boat, which was only a few hundred yards distant, slightly altered its course, now heading toward them in a way that left no doubt that the steersman had detected their presence.

The boat slackened speed until it was travelling no faster than a walking man, but the irregularity of its movements continued. It was shaped rather queerly. About twenty feet long, its straight sides tapered off from a flat bow, four feet broad, to a sharp-angled stern. The flat bottom was not above ten feet from the ground. It was undecked, and carried only one living occupant; the other object they had distinguished was really the carcass of an animal, of about the size of a large sheep. The blue haze trailing behind the boat appeared to emanate from the glittering point of a short upright pole fastened in the stem. When the craft was within a few feet of them, and they were looking down at it in wonder from above, the man removed this pole and covered the brightly shining tip with a cap. The forward motion then ceased altogether, and the boat began to drift hither and thither, but still it remained suspended in the air, while the haze underneath persisted. Finally the broad side came gently up against the pile of rocks on which they were standing. The steersman jumped ashore and immediately clambered up to meet them.

Maskull offered him a hand, but he refused it disdainfully.