A Voyage to Arcturus, David Lindsay [book recommendations for teens TXT] 📗

two suns. Branchspell produces blue, yellow, and red; Alppain, ulfire, blue, and jale.”

“It’s remarkable that explanation has never occurred to me before.”

“So here you have another illustration of the necessary trinity of nature. Blue is existence. It is darkness seen through light; a contrasting of existence and nothingness. Yellow is relation. In yellow light we see the relation of objects in the clearest way. Red is feeling. When we see red, we are thrown back on our personal feelings.... As regards the Alppain colours, blue stands in the middle and is therefore not existence, but relation. Ulfire is existence; so it must be a different sort of existence.”

Haunte yawned. “There are marvellous philosophers in your underground hole.”

Maskull got up and looked about him.

“Where does that other door lead to?”

“Better explore,” said Haunte.

Maskull took him at his word, and strolled across the cave, flinging the curtain aside and disappearing into the night. Haunte rose abruptly and hurried after him.

Corpang too got to his feet. He went over to the untouched spirit skins, untied the necks, and allowed the contents to gush out on to the floor. Next he took the hunting spears, and snapped off the points between his hands. Before he had time to resume his seat, Haunte and Maskull reappeared. The host’s quick, shifty eyes at once took in what had happened. He smiled, and turned pale.

“You haven’t been idle, friend.”

Corpang fixed Haunte with his bold, heavy gaze. “I thought it well to draw your teeth.”

Maskull burst out laughing. “The toad’s come into the light to some purpose, Haunte. Who would have expected it?”

Haunte, after staring hard at Corpang for two or three minutes, suddenly uttered a strange cry, like an evil spirit, and flung himself upon him. The two men began to wrestle like wildcats. They were as often on the floor as on their legs, and Maskull could not see who was getting the better of it. He made no attempt to separate them. A thought came into his head and, snatching up the two male stones, he ran with them, laughing, through the upper doorway, into the open night air.

The door overlooked an abyss on another face of the mountain. A narrow ledge, sprinkled with green snow, wound along the cliff to the right; it was the only available path. He pitched the pebbles over the edge of the chasm. Although hard and heavy in his hand, they sank more like feathers than stones, and left a long trail of vapour behind. While Maskull was still watching them disappear, Haunte came rushing out of the cavern, followed by Corpang. He gripped Maskull’s arm excitedly.

“What in Krag’s name have you done?”

“Overboard they have gone,” replied Maskull, renewing his laughter.

“You accursed madman!”

Haunte’s luminous colour came and went, just as though his internal light were breathing. Then he grew suddenly calm, by a supreme exertion of his will.

“You know this kills me?”

“Haven’t you been doing your best this last hour to make me ripe for Sullenbode? Well then, cheer up, and join the pleasure party!”

“You say it as a joke, but it is the miserable truth.”

Haunte’s jeering malevolence had completely vanished. He looked a sick man—yet somehow his face had become nobler.

“I would be very sorry for you, Haunte, if it did not entail my being also very sorry for myself. We are now all three together on the same errand—which doesn’t appear to have struck you yet.”

“But why this errand at all?” asked Corpang quietly. “Can’t you men exercise self-control till you have arrived out of danger?”

Haunte fixed him with wild eyes. “No. The phantoms come trooping in on me already.”

He sat down moodily, but the next minute was up again.

“And I cannot wait.... the game is started.”

Soon afterward, by silent consent, they began to walk the ledge, Haunte in front. It was narrow, ascending, and slippery, so that extreme caution was demanded. The way was lighted by the self-luminous snow and rocks.

When they had covered about half a mile, Maskull, who went second of the party, staggered, caught the cliff, and finally sat down.

“The drink works. My old sensations are returning, but worse.”

Haunte turned back. “Then you are a doomed man.”

Maskull, though fully conscious of his companions and situation, imagined that he was being oppressed by a black, shapeless, supernatural being, who was trying to clasp him. He was filled with horror, trembled violently, yet could not move a limb. Sweat tumbled off his face in great drops. The waking nightmare lasted a long time, but during that space it kept coming and going. At one moment the vision seemed on the point of departing; the next it almost took shape—which he knew would be his death. Suddenly it vanished altogether—he was free. A fresh spring breeze fanned his face; he heard the slow, solitary singing of a sweet bird; and it seemed to him as if a poem had shot together in his soul. Such flashing, heartbreaking joy he had never experienced before in all his life! Almost immediately that too vanished.

Sitting up, he passed his hand across his eyes and swayed quietly, like one who has been visited by an angel.

“Your colour changed to white,” said Corpang. “What happened?”

“I passed through torture to love,” replied Maskull simply.

He stood up. Haunte gazed at him sombrely. “Will you not describe that passage?”

Maskull answered slowly and thoughtfully. “When I was in Matterplay, I saw heavy clouds discharge themselves and change to coloured, living animals. In the same way, my black, chaotic pangs just now seemed to consolidate themselves and spring together as a new sort of joy. The joy would not have been possible without the preliminary nightmare. It is not accidental; Nature intends it so. The truth has just flashed through my brain.... You men of Lichstorm don’t go far enough. You stop at the pangs, without realising that they are birth pangs.”

“If this is true, you are a great pioneer,” muttered Haunte.

“How does this sensation differ from common love?” interrogated Corpang.

“This was all that love is, multiplied by wildness.”

Corpang fingered his chin awhile. “The Lichstorm men, however, will never reach this stage, for they are too masculine.”

Haunte turned pale. “Why should we alone suffer?”

“Nature is freakish and cruel, and doesn’t act according to justice.... Follow us, Haunte, and escape from it all.”

“I’ll see,” muttered Haunte. “Perhaps I will.”