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

great upward-curving horn of rock sprang out from its topmost pinnacle. For a long time it constituted their cheif landmark.

The whole ridge gradually became saturated with moisture. The surface soil was spongy, and rested on impermeable rock; it breathed in the damp mists by night, and breathed them out again by day, under Branchspell’s rays. The walking grew first unpleasant, then difficult, and finally dangerous. None of the party could distinguish firm ground from bog. Sullenbode sank up to her waist in a pit of slime; Maskull rescued her, but after this incident took the lead himself. Corpang was the next to meet with trouble. Exploring a new path for himself, he tumbled into liquid mud up to his shoulders, and narrowly escaped a filthy death. After Maskull had got him out, at great personal risk, they proceeded once more; but now the scramble changed from bad to worse. Each step had to be thoroughly tested before weight was put upon it, and even so the test frequently failed. All of them went in so often, that in the end they no longer resembled human beings, but walking pillars plastered from top to toe with black filth. The hardest work fell to Maskull. He not only had the exhausting task of beating the way, but was continually called upon to help his companions out of their difficulties. Without him they could not have got through.

After a peculiarly evil patch, they paused to recruit their strength. Corpang’s breathing was difficult, Sullenbode was quiet, listless, and depressed.

Maskull gazed at them doubtfully. “Does this continue?” he inquired.

“No. I think,” replied the woman, “we can’t be far from the Mornstab Pass. After that we shall begin to climb again, and then the road will improve perhaps.”

“Can you have been here before?”

“Once I have been to the Pass, but it was not so bad then.”

“You are tired out, Sullenbode.”

“What of it?” she replied, smiling faintly. “When one has a terrible lover, one must pay the price.”

“We cannot get there tonight, so let us stop at the first shelter we come to.”

“I leave it to you.”

He paced up and down, while the others sat. “Do you regret anything?” he demanded suddenly.

“No, Maskull, nothing. I regret nothing.”

“Your feelings are unchanged?”

“Love can’t go back—it can only go on.”

“Yes, eternally on. It is so.”

“No, I don’t mean that. There is a climax, but when the climax has been reached, love if it still wants to ascend must turn to sacrifice.”

“That’s a dreadful creed,” he said in a low voice, turning pale beneath his coating of mud.

“Perhaps my nature is discordant.... I am tired. I don’t know what I feel.”

In a few minutes they were on their feet again, and the journey recommenced. Within half an hour they had reached the Mornstab Pass.

The ground here was drier; the broken land to the north served to drain off the moisture of the soil. Sullenbode led them to the northern edge of the ridge, to show them the nature of the country. The pass was nothing but a gigantic landslip on both sides of the ridge, where it was the lowest above the underlying land. A series of huge broken terraces of earth and rock descended toward Barey. They were overgrown with stunted vegetation. It was quite possible to get down to the lowlands that way, but rather difficult. On either side of the landslip, to east and west, the ridge came down in a long line of sheer, terrific cliffs. A low haze concealed Barey from view. Complete stillness was in the air, broken only by the distant thundering of an invisible waterfall.

Maskull and Sullenbode sat down on a boulder, facing the open country. The moon was directly behind them, high up. It was almost as light as an Earth day.

“Tonight is like life,” said Sullenbode.

“How so?”

“So lovely above and around us, so foul underfoot.”

Maskull sighed. “Poor girl, you are unhappy.”

“And you—are you happy?”

He thought a while, and then replied—“No. No, I’m not happy. Love is not happiness.”

“What is it, Maskull?”

“Restlessness—unshed tears—thoughts too grand for our soul to think...”

“Yes,” said Sullenbode.

After a time she asked, “Why were we created, just to live for a few years and then disappear?”

“We are told that we shall live again.”

“Yes, Maskull?”

“Perhaps in Muspel,” he added thoughtfully.

“What kind of life will that be?”

“Surely we shall meet again. Love is too wonderful and mysterious a thing to remain uncompleted.”

She gave a slight shiver, and turned away from him. “This dream is untrue. Love is completed here.”

“How can that be, when sooner or later it is brutally interrupted by Fate?”

“It is completed by anguish.... Oh, why must it always be enjoyment for us? Can’t we suffer—can’t we go on suffering, forever and ever? Maskull, until love crushes our spirit, finally and without remedy, we don’t begin to feel ourselves.”

Maskull gazed at her with a troubled expression. “Can the memory of love be worth more than its presence and reality?”

“You don’t understand. Those pangs are more precious than all the rest beside.” She caught at him. “Oh, if you could only see inside my mind, Maskull! You would see strange things.... I can’t explain. It is all confused, even to myself.... This love is quite different from what I thought.”

He sighed again. “Love is a strong drink. Perhaps it is too strong for human beings. And I think that it overturns our reason in different ways.”

They remained sitting side by side, staring straight before them with unseeing eyes.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Sullenbode at last, with a smile, getting up. “Soon it will be ended, one way or another. Come, let us be off!”

Maskull too got up.

“Where’s Corpang?” he asked listlessly.

They both looked across the ridge in the direction of Adage. At the point where they stood it was nearly a mile wide. It sloped perceptibly toward the southern edge, giving all the earth the appearance of a heavy list. Toward the west the ground continued level for a thousand yards, but then a high, sloping, grassy hill went right across the ridge from side to side,