A Voyage to Arcturus, David Lindsay [guided reading books TXT] 📗

The deep, glowing disk of the blue sun peeped above the sea. Maskull was struck to silence. He was hardly so much looking, as feeling. His emotions were unutterable. His soul seemed too strong for his body. The great blue orb rose rapidly out of the water, like an awful eye watching him.⁠ ⁠… It shot above the sea with a bound, and Alppain’s day commenced.

“What do you feel?” Gangnet still held his arm.

“I have set myself against the Infinite,” muttered Maskull.

Suddenly his chaos of passions sprang together, and a wonderful idea swept through his whole being, accompanied by the intensest joy.

“Why, Gangnet⁠—I am nothing.”

“No, you are nothing.”

The mist closed in all around them. Nothing was visible except the two suns, and a few feet of sea. The shadows of the three men cast by Alppain were not black, but were composed of white daylight.

“Then nothing can hurt me,” said Maskull with a peculiar smile.

Gangnet smiled too. “How could it?”

“I have lost my will; I feel as if some foul tumour had been scraped away, leaving me clean and free.”

“Do you now understand life, Maskull?”

Gangnet’s face was transfigured with an extraordinary spiritual beauty; he looked as if he had descended from heaven.

“I understand nothing, except that I have no self any more. But this is life.”

“Is Gangnet expatiating on his famous blue sun?” said a jeering voice above them. Looking up, they saw that Krag had got to his feet.

They both rose. At the same moment the gathering mist began to obscure Alppain’s disk, changing it from blue to a vivid jale.

“What do you want with us, Krag?” asked Maskull with simple composure.

Krag looked at him strangely for a few seconds. The water lapped around them.

“Don’t you comprehend, Maskull, that your death has arrived?”

Maskull made no response. Krag rested an arm lightly on his shoulder, and suddenly he felt sick and faint. He sank to the ground, near the edge of the island raft. His heart was thumping heavily and queerly; its beating reminded him of the drum taps. He gazed languidly at the rippling water, and it seemed to him as if he could see right through it⁠ ⁠… away, away down⁠ ⁠… to a strange fire.⁠ ⁠…

The water disappeared. The two suns were extinguished. The island was transformed into a cloud, and Maskull⁠—alone on it⁠—was floating through the atmosphere.⁠ ⁠… Down below, it was all fire⁠—the fire of Muspel. The light mounted higher and higher, until it filled the whole world.⁠ ⁠…

He floated toward an immense perpendicular cliff of black rock, without top or bottom. Halfway up it Krag, suspended in midair, was dealing terrific blows at a blood-red spot with a huge hammer. The rhythmical, clanging sounds were hideous.

Presently Maskull made out that these sounds were the familiar drum beats. “What are you doing, Krag?” he asked.

Krag suspended his work, and turned around.

“Beating on your heart, Maskull,” was his grinning response.

The cliff and Krag vanished. Maskull saw Gangnet struggling in the air⁠—but it was not Gangnet⁠—it was Crystalman. He seemed to be trying to escape from the Muspel-fire, which kept surrounding and licking him, whichever way he turned. He was screaming.⁠ ⁠… The fire caught him. He shrieked horribly. Maskull caught one glimpse of a vulgar, slobbering face⁠—and then that too disappeared.

He opened his eyes. The floating island was still faintly illuminated by Alppain. Krag was standing by his side, but Gangnet was no longer there.

“What is this Ocean called?” asked Maskull, bringing out the words with difficulty.

“Surtur’s Ocean.”

Maskull nodded, and kept quiet for some time. He rested his face on his arm. “Where’s Nightspore?” he asked suddenly.

Krag bent over him with a grave expression. “You are Nightspore.”

The dying man closed his eyes, and smiled.

Opening them again, a few moments later, with an effort, he murmured, “Who are you?”

Krag maintained a gloomy silence.

Shortly afterward a frightful pang passed through Maskull’s heart, and he died immediately.

Krag turned his head around. “The night is really past at last, Nightspore.⁠ ⁠… The day is here.”

Nightspore gazed long and earnestly at Maskull’s body. “Why was all this necessary?”

“Ask Crystalman,” replied Krag sternly. “His world is no joke. He has a strong clutch⁠—but I have a stronger⁠ ⁠… Maskull was his, but Nightspore is mine.”

The fog thickened so that the two suns wholly disappeared, and all grew as black as night. Nightspore could no longer see his companion. The water lapped gently against the side of the island raft.

“You say the night is past,” said Nightspore. “But the night is still here. Am I dead, or alive?”

“You are still in Crystalman’s world, but you belong to it no more. We are approaching Muspel.”

Nightspore felt a strong, silent throbbing of the air⁠—a rhythmical pulsation, in four-four time. “There is the drumming,” he exclaimed.

“Do you understand it, or have you forgotten?”

“I half understand it, but I’m all confused.”

“It’s evident Crystalman has dug his claws into you pretty deeply,” said Krag. “The sound comes from Muspel, but the rhythm is caused by its travelling through Crystalman’s atmosphere. His nature is rhythm, as he loves to call it⁠—or dull, deadly repetition, as I name it.”

“I remember,” said Nightspore, biting his nails in the dark.

The throbbing became audible; it now sounded like a distant drum. A small patch of strange light in the far distance, straight ahead of them, began faintly to illuminate the floating island and the glassy sea around it.

“Do all men escape from that ghastly world, or only I, and a few like me?” asked Nightspore.

“If all escaped, I shouldn’t sweat, my friend.⁠ ⁠… There’s hard work, and anguish, and the risk of total death, waiting for us yonder.”

Nightspore’s heart sank. “Have I not yet finished, then?”

“If you wish it. You have got through. But will you wish it?”

The drumming grew loud and painful. The light resolved itself into a tiny oblong of mysterious brightness in a huge wall of night. Krag’s grim and rocklike features were revealed.

“I can’t face rebirth,” said Nightspore. “The horror of death is nothing to it.”

“You will choose.”

“I can do