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

He was a young man, of middle height. He wore a close-fitting fur garment. His limbs were quite ordinary, but his trunk was disproportionately long, and he had the biggest and deepest chest that Maskull had ever seen in a man. His hairless face was sharp, pointed, and ugly, with protruding teeth, and a spiteful, grinning expression. His eyes and brows sloped upward. On his forehead was an organ which looked as though it had been mutilated⁠—it was a mere disagreeable stump of flesh. His hair was short and thin. Maskull could not name the colour of his skin, but it seemed to stand in the same relation to jale as green to red.

Once up, the stranger stood for a minute or two, scrutinising the two companions through half-closed lids, all the time smiling insolently. Maskull was all eagerness to exchange words, but did not care to be the first to speak. Corpang stood moodily, a little in the background.

“What men are you?” demanded the aerial navigator at last. His voice was extremely loud, and possessed a most unpleasant timbre. It sounded to Maskull like a large volume of air trying to force its way through a narrow orifice.

“I am Maskull; my friend is Corpang. He comes from Threal, but where I come from, don’t ask.”

“I am Haunte, from Sarclash.”

“Where may that be?”

“Half an hour ago I could have shown it to you, but now it has got too murky. It is a mountain in Lichstorm.”

“Are you returning there now?”

“Yes.”

“And how long will it take to get there in that boat?”

“Two⁠—three hours.”

“Will it accommodate us too?”

“What, are you for Lichstorm as well? What can you want there?”

“To see the sights,” responded Maskull with twinkling eyes. “But first of all, to dine. I can’t remember having eaten all day. You seem to have been hunting to some purpose, so we won’t lack for food.”

Haunte eyed him quizzically. “You certainly don’t lack impudence. However, I’m a man of that sort myself, and it is the sort I prefer. Your friend, now, would probably rather starve than ask a meal of a stranger. He looks to me just like a bewildered toad dragged up out of a dark hole.”

Maskull took Corpang’s arm, and constrained him to silence.

“Where have you been hunting, Haunte?”

“Matterplay. I had the worst luck⁠—I speared one wold horse, and there it lies.”

“What is Lichstorm like?”

“There are men there, and there are women there, but there are no men-women, as with you.”

“What do you call men-women?”

“Persons of mixed sex, like yourself. In Lichstorm the sexes are pure.”

“I have always regarded myself as a man.”

“Very likely you have; but the test is, do you hate and fear women?”

“Why, do you?”

Haunte grinned and showed his teeth. “Things are different in Lichstorm.⁠ ⁠… So you want to see the sights?”

“I confess I am curious to see your women, for example, after what you say.”

“Then I’ll introduce you to Sullenbode.”

He paused a moment after making this remark, and then suddenly uttered a great, bass laugh, so that his chest shook.

“Let us share the joke,” said Maskull.

“Oh, you’ll understand it later.”

“If you play pranks with me, I won’t stand on ceremony with you.”

Haunte laughed again. “I won’t be the one to play pranks. Sullenbode will be deeply obliged to me. If I don’t visit her myself as often as she would like, I’m always glad to serve her in other ways.⁠ ⁠… Well, you shall have your boat ride.”

Maskull rubbed his nose doubtfully. “If the sexes hate one another in your land, is it because passion is weaker, or stronger?”

“In other parts of the world there is soft passion, but in Lichstorm there is hard passion.”

“But what do you call hard passion?”

“Where men are called to women by pain, and not pleasure.”

“I intend to understand, before I’ve finished.”

“Yes,” answered Haunte, with a taunting look, “it would be a pity to let the chance slip, since you’re going to Lichstorm.”

It was now Corpang’s turn to take Maskull by the arm. “This journey will end badly.”

“Why so?”

“Your goal was Muspel a short while ago; now it is women.”

“Let me alone,” said Maskull. “Give luck a slack rein. What brought this boat here?”

“What is this talk about Muspel?” demanded Haunte.

Corpang caught his shoulder roughly, and stared straight into his eyes. “What do you know?”

“Not much, but something, perhaps. Ask me at supper. Now it is high time to start. Navigating the mountains by night isn’t child’s play, let me tell you.”

“I shall not forget,” said Corpang.

Maskull gazed down at the boat. “Are we to get in?”

“Gently, my friend. It’s only canework and skin.”

“First of all, you might enlighten me as to how you have contrived to dispense with the laws of gravitation.”

Haunte smiled sarcastically. “A secret in your ear, Maskull. All laws are female. A true male is an outlaw⁠—outside the law.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The great body of the Earth is continually giving out female particles, and the male parts of rocks and living bodies are equally continually trying to reach them. That’s gravitation.”

“Then how do you manage with your boat?”

“My two male stones do the work. The one underneath the boat prevents it from falling to the ground; the one in the stem shuts it off from solid objects in the rear. The only part of the boat attracted by any part of the Earth is the bow, for that’s the only part the light of the male stones does not fall on. So in that direction the boat travels.”

“And what are these wondrous male stones?”

“They really are male stones. There is nothing female in them; they are showering out male sparks all the time. These sparks devour all the female particles rising from the earth. No female particles are left over to attract the male parts of the boat, and so they are not in the least attracted in that direction.”

Maskull ruminated for a minute.

“With your hunting, and boatbuilding, and science, you seem a very handy, skilful fellow, Haunte.⁠ ⁠… But the sun’s sinking, and we’d better start.”

“Get down