Chapter 8

The Lusion Plain

13 min

Maskull awoke before the others. He got up, stretched himself, and walked out into the sunlight. Branchspell was already declining. He climbed to the top of the crater edge and looked away toward Ifdawn. The afterglow of Alppain had by now completely disappeared. The mountains stood up wild and grand.

Maskull woke before the others. He got up, stretched, and walked out into the sunlight. Branchspell was already sinking. He climbed to the top of the crater’s edge and looked toward Ifdawn. The afterglow of Alppain had completely faded. The mountains rose wild and grand.

They impressed him like a simple musical theme, the notes of which are widely separated in the scale; a spirit of rashness, daring, and adventure seemed to call to him from them. It was at that moment that the determination flashed into his heart to walk to the Marest and explore its dangers.

They struck him like a simple musical theme, with notes far apart on the scale. They seemed to call to him with a spirit of recklessness, daring, and adventure. At that moment, he suddenly resolved to walk to the Marest and explore its dangers.

He returned to the cavern to say good-by to his hosts.

He returned to the cavern to say goodbye to his hosts.

Joiwind looked at him with her brave and honest eyes. “Is this selfishness, Maskull?” she asked, “or are you drawn by something stronger than yourself?”

Joiwind looked at him with brave, honest eyes. “Are you being selfish, Maskull?” she asked. “Or is something stronger than you drawing you in?”

“We must be reasonable,” he answered, smiling. “I can’t settle down in Poolingdred before I have found out something about this surprising new planet of yours. Remember what a long way I have come.... But very likely I shall come back here.”

“We have to be reasonable,” he answered, smiling. “I can’t settle down in Poolingdred until I’ve learned something about your surprising new planet. Remember how far I’ve come.... But I’ll very likely come back here.”

“Will you make me a promise?”

Maskull hesitated. “Ask nothing difficult, for I hardly know my powers yet.”

Maskull hesitated. “Don't ask anything difficult, because I hardly know my powers yet.”

“It is not hard, and I wish it. Promise this—never to raise your hand against a living creature, either to strike, pluck, or eat, without first recollecting its mother, who suffered for it.”

“It isn’t hard, and I want you to do it. Promise me this: never strike, pluck, or eat a living creature without first remembering its mother, who suffered for it.”

“Perhaps I won’t promise that,” said Maskull slowly, “but I’ll undertake something more tangible. I will never lift my hand against a living creature without first recollecting you, Joiwind.”

“Perhaps I won’t promise that,” Maskull said slowly, “but I’ll promise something more concrete. I will never raise my hand against a living creature without first thinking of you, Joiwind.”

She turned a little pale. “Now if Panawe knew that Panawe existed, he might be jealous.”

Panawe put his hand on her gently. “You would not talk like that in Shaping’s presence,” he said.

Panawe gently placed his hand on her. “You wouldn’t talk like that in front of Shaping,” he said.

“No. Forgive me! I’m not quite myself. Perhaps it is Maskull’s blood in my veins.... Now let us bid him adieu. Let us pray that he will do only honourable deeds, wherever he may be.”

“No. Forgive me! I’m not quite myself. Perhaps it’s Maskull’s blood in my veins.... Now let’s say goodbye to him. Let’s pray that he will do only honorable deeds, wherever he may be.”

“I’ll set Maskull on his way,” said Panawe.

“I’ll help Maskull get on his way,” said Panawe.

“There’s no need,” replied Maskull. “The way is plain.”

“There’s no need,” Maskull replied. “The way is clear.”

“But talking shortens the road.”

“But talking makes the journey feel shorter.”

Maskull turned to go.

Maskull turned to leave.

Joiwind pulled him around toward her softly. “You won’t think badly of other women on my account?”

Joiwind gently pulled him around to face her. “You won’t think badly of other women because of me, will you?”

“You are a blessed spirit,” answered he.

“You are a blessed spirit,” he replied.

She trod quietly to the inner extremity of the cave and stood there thinking. Panawe and Maskull emerged into the open air. Halfway down the cliff face a little spring was encountered. Its water was colourless, transparent, but gaseous. As soon as Maskull had satisfied his thirst he felt himself different. His surroundings were so real to him in their vividness and colour, so unreal in their phantom-like mystery, that he scrambled downhill like one in a winter’s dream.

She walked quietly to the back of the cave and stood there thinking. Panawe and Maskull came out into the open air. Halfway down the cliff, they came across a little spring. Its water was colorless and clear, but gaseous. As soon as Maskull had quenched his thirst, he felt different. His surroundings seemed so real in their vividness and color, yet so unreal in their ghostly mystery, that he scrambled downhill like someone in a winter dream.

When they reached the plain he saw in front of them an interminable forest of tall trees, the shapes of which were extraordinarily foreign looking. The leaves were crystalline and, looking upward, it was as if he were gazing through a roof of glass. The moment they got underneath the trees the light rays of the sun continued to come through—white, savage, and blazing—but they were gelded of heat. Then it was not hard to imagine that they were wandering through cool, bright elfin glades.

When they reached the plain, he saw an endless forest of tall trees ahead of them. Their shapes looked extraordinarily strange. The leaves were like crystal, and looking up was like gazing through a glass roof. As soon as they were under the trees, the sun’s rays still shone through, white, fierce, and blazing. But the rays had lost their heat. It was easy to imagine they were wandering through cool, bright fairy glades.

Through the forest, beginning at their very feet an avenue, perfectly straight and not very wide, went forward as far as the eye could see.

An avenue began at their feet and ran through the forest as far as they could see. It was perfectly straight and not very wide.

Maskull wanted to talk to his travelling companion, but was somehow unable to find words. Panawe glanced at him with an inscrutable smile—stern, yet enchanting and half feminine. He then broke the silence, but, strangely enough, Maskull could not make out whether he was singing or speaking. From his lips issued a slow musical recitative, exactly like a bewitching adagio from a low toned stringed instrument—but there was a difference. Instead of the repetition and variation of one or two short themes, as in music, Panawe’s theme was prolonged—it never came to an end, but rather resembled a conversation in rhythm and melody. And, at the same time, it was no recitative, for it was not declamatory. It was a long, quiet stream of lovely emotion.

Maskull wanted to talk to his traveling companion, but somehow he couldn't find the words. Panawe glanced at him with a mysterious smile, stern yet enchanting and somewhat feminine. He then broke the silence. Strangely, Maskull couldn't tell whether he was singing or speaking. From his lips came a slow, musical recitation, exactly like a hauntingly beautiful adagio played on a low-pitched stringed instrument. But there was a difference. Music repeats and varies one or two short themes. Panawe's theme, instead, went on and on, never ending. In its rhythm and melody, it was more like a conversation. And yet it wasn't a recitation, because it wasn't delivered like a speech. It was a long, quiet stream of beautiful emotion.

Maskull listened entranced, yet agitated. The song, if it might be termed song, seemed to be always just on the point of becoming clear and intelligible—not with the intelligibility of words, but in the way one sympathises with another’s moods and feelings; and Maskull felt that something important was about to be uttered, which would explain all that had gone before. But it was invariably postponed, he never understood—and yet somehow he did understand.

Maskull listened, spellbound but agitated. The song, if it could be called a song, always seemed just about to become clear and understandable. Not as words are understood, but as one understands another person’s moods and feelings. Maskull felt that something important was about to be expressed, something that would explain all that had come before. But it was always put off. He never understood, and yet somehow he did.

Late in the afternoon they came to a clearing, and there Panawe ceased his recitative. He slowed his pace and stopped, in the fashion of a man who wishes to convey that he intends to go no farther.

Late in the afternoon, they came to a clearing, and Panawe stopped his recitation. He slowed down and stopped, as if to show that he intended to go no farther.

“What is the name of this country?” asked Maskull.

“What is this country called?” asked Maskull.

“It is the Lusion Plain.”

“Was that music in the nature of a temptation—do you wish me not to go on?”

“Was that music meant to tempt me? Do you want me to stop?”

“Your work lies before you, and not behind you.”

“Your work is ahead of you, not behind you.”

“What was it, then? What work do you allude to?”

“What was it, then? What work are you referring to?”

“It must have seemed like something to you, Maskull.”

“It seemed like Shaping music to me.”

“It sounded like Shaping music to me.”

The instant he had absently uttered these words, Maskull wondered why he had done so, as they now appeared meaningless to him.

As soon as Maskull said these words without thinking, he wondered why he had said them. They now seemed meaningless to him.

Panawe, however, showed no surprise. “Shaping you will find everywhere.”

Panawe, however, showed no surprise. “You will find shaping everywhere.”

“Am I dreaming, or awake?”

“Am I dreaming or awake?”

“You are awake.”

Maskull fell into deep thought. “So be it,” he said, rousing himself. “Now I will go on. But where must I sleep tonight?”

Maskull fell into deep thought. “All right,” he said, pulling himself out of his thoughts. “Now I'll move on. But where will I sleep tonight?”

“You will reach a broad river. On that you can travel to the foot of the Marest tomorrow; but tonight you had better sleep where the forest and river meet.”

“You will reach a broad river. You can travel on it to the foot of the Marest tomorrow. But tonight you should sleep where the forest and river meet.”

“Adieu, then, Panawe! But do you wish to say anything more to me?”

“Goodbye, then, Panawe! But do you want to say anything else to me?”

“Only this, Maskull—wherever you go, help to make the world beautiful, and not ugly.”

“Just this, Maskull: wherever you go, help make the world beautiful, not ugly.”

“That’s more than any of us can undertake. I am a simple man, and have no ambitions in the way of beautifying life—But tell Joiwind I will try to keep myself pure.”

“That’s more than any of us can do. I’m a simple man, and I have no ambition to make life more beautiful. But tell Joiwind I’ll try to keep myself pure.”

They parted rather coldly. Maskull stood erect where they had stopped, and watched Panawe out of sight. He sighed more than once.

They parted rather coldly. Maskull stood upright where they had stopped and watched Panawe until he was out of sight. He sighed more than once.

He became aware that something was about to happen. The air was breathless. The late-afternoon sunshine, unobstructed, wrapped his frame in voluptuous heat. A solitary cloud, immensely high, raced through the sky overhead.

He sensed that something was about to happen. The air was still. The unobstructed late-afternoon sun wrapped his body in sensual warmth. A single cloud raced across the sky high overhead.

A single trumpet note sounded in the far distance from somewhere behind him. It gave him an impression of being several miles away at first; but then it slowly swelled, and came nearer and nearer at the same time that it increased in volume. Still the same note sounded, but now it was as if blown by a giant trumpeter immediately over his head. Then it gradually diminished in force, and travelled away in front of him. It ended very faintly and distantly.

A single trumpet note sounded far behind him. At first, it seemed to come from several miles away. But it slowly grew louder and came nearer at the same time. The same note kept sounding, but now it was as if a giant trumpeter were blowing it right over his head. Then it gradually grew softer and moved away in front of him. It ended very faintly, far in the distance.

He felt himself alone with Nature. A sacred stillness came over his heart. Past and future were forgotten. The forest, the sun, the day did not exist for him. He was unconscious of himself—he had no thoughts and no feelings. Yet never had Life had such an altitude for him.

He felt alone with Nature. A sacred stillness settled over his heart. He forgot the past and the future. The forest, the sun, and the day did not exist for him. He was unaware of himself. He had no thoughts or feelings. Yet Life had never reached such heights for him.

A man stood, with crossed arms, right in his path. He was so clothed that his limbs were exposed, while his body was covered. He was young rather than old. Maskull observed that his countenance possessed none of the special organs of Tormance, to which he had not even yet become reconciled. He was smooth-faced. His whole person seemed to radiate an excess of life, like the trembling of air on a hot day. His eyes had such force that Maskull could not meet them.

A man stood directly in his path, his arms crossed. His clothes covered his body but left his limbs exposed. He was more young than old. Maskull noticed that his face had none of the special organs of Tormance. Maskull still had not grown used to those organs. The man's face was smooth. His whole body seemed to radiate an excess of life, like air trembling on a hot day. His eyes were so powerful that Maskull could not meet them.

He addressed Maskull by name, in an extraordinary voice. It had a double tone. The primary one sounded far away; the second was an undertone, like a sympathetic tanging string.

He spoke Maskull's name in an extraordinary voice. It had two tones. The main tone sounded far away. Beneath it was a second tone, like the twang of a string vibrating in sympathy.

Maskull felt a rising joy, as he continued standing in the presence of this individual. He believed that something good was happening to him. He found it physically difficult to bring any words out. “Why do you stop me?”

Maskull felt a growing joy as he continued to stand near this person. He believed something good was happening to him. He found it physically difficult to speak. “Why are you stopping me?”

“Maskull, look well at me. Who am I?”

“Maskull, look closely at me. Who am I?”

“I think you are Shaping.”

“I am Surtur.”

Maskull again attempted to meet his eyes, but felt as if he were being stabbed.

Maskull tried again to meet his eyes, but felt as if he were being stabbed.

“You know that this is my world. Why do you think I have brought you here? I wish you to serve me.”

“You know this is my world. Why do you think I brought you here? I want you to serve me.”

Maskull could no longer speak.

“Those who joke at my world,” continued the vision, “those who make a mock of its stern, eternal rhythm, its beauty and sublimity, which are not skin-deep, but proceed from fathomless roots—they shall not escape.”

“Those who joke about my world,” the vision continued, “those who mock its stern, eternal rhythm, its beauty and grandeur, will not escape. That beauty and grandeur are not just on the surface, but come from roots too deep to fathom.”

“I do not mock it.”

“I don't mock it.”

“Ask me your questions, and I will answer them.”

“Ask me your questions, and I’ll answer them.”

“I have nothing.”

“It is necessary for you to serve me, Maskull. Do you not understand? You are my servant and helper.”

“You must serve me, Maskull. Don’t you understand? You are my servant and helper.”

“I shall not fail.”

“I won't fail.”

“This is for my sake, and not for yours.”

“This is for my benefit, not yours.”

These last words had no sooner left Surtur’s mouth than Maskull saw him spring suddenly upward and outward. Looking up at the vault of the sky, he saw the whole expanse of vision filled by Surtur’s form—not as a concrete man, but as a vast, concave cloud image, looking down and frowning at him. Then the spectacle vanished, as a light goes out.

As soon as Surtur said these last words, Maskull saw him suddenly leap upward and outward. Maskull looked up at the sky and saw Surtur’s form fill his entire view. It was not a solid human figure, but a vast, hollow image in the clouds, looking down and frowning at him. Then the sight vanished, like a light going out.

Maskull stood inactive, with a thumping heart. Now he again heard the solitary trumpet note. The sound began this time faintly in the far distance in front of him, travelled slowly toward him with regularly increasing intensity, passed overhead at its loudest, and then grew more and more quiet, wonderful, and solemn, as it fell away in the rear, until the note was merged in the deathlike silence of the forest. It appeared to Maskull like the closing of a marvellous and important chapter.

Maskull stood still, his heart pounding. Again, he heard the single trumpet note. This time, it began faintly in the distance ahead of him. It moved slowly toward him, growing steadily louder. It passed overhead at its loudest, then faded behind him, growing more wonderful and solemn. At last, the note disappeared into the deathlike silence of the forest. To Maskull, it seemed like the end of a marvelous and important chapter.

Simultaneously with the fading away of the sound, the heavens seemed to open up with the rapidity of lightning into a blue vault of immeasurable height. He breathed a great breath, stretched all his limbs, and looked around him with a slow smile.

As the sound faded, the sky seemed to open with lightning speed into a blue vault of immeasurable height. He took a deep breath, stretched all his limbs, and looked around with a slow smile.

After a while he resumed his journey. His brain was all dark and confused, but one idea was already beginning to stand out from the rest—huge, shapeless, and grand, like the growing image in the soul of a creative artist: the staggering thought that he was a man of destiny.

After a while, he continued his journey. His mind was completely dark and confused, but one idea was already beginning to stand out from the rest. It was huge, shapeless, and grand, like an image growing in the soul of a creative artist. It was the staggering thought that he was a man of destiny.

The more he reflected upon all that had occurred since his arrival in this new world—and even before leaving Earth—the clearer and more indisputable it became, that he could not be here for his own purposes, but must be here for an end. But what that end was, he could not imagine.

He thought more about everything that had happened since he arrived in this new world, and even before he left Earth. The more he thought, the clearer and more certain it became that he was not here for his own purposes. He had to be here for some purpose. But he could not imagine what that purpose was.

Through the forest he saw Branchspell at last sinking in the west. It looked a stupendous ball of red fire—now he could realise at his ease what a sun it was! The avenue took an abrupt turn to the left and began to descend steeply.

Through the forest, he finally saw Branchspell sinking in the west. It looked like a huge ball of red fire. Now he could take his time and see what a sun it was! The avenue turned sharply to the left and began to descend steeply.

A wide, rolling river of clear and dark water was visible in front of him, no great way off. It flowed from north to south. The forest path led him straight to its banks. Maskull stood there, and regarded the lapping, gurgling waters pensively. On the opposite bank, the forest continued. Miles to the south, Poolingdred could just be distinguished. On the northern skyline the Ifdawn Mountains loomed up—high, wild, beautiful, and dangerous. They were not a dozen miles away.

A wide river with rolling, clear, dark water lay not far ahead of him. It flowed from north to south. The forest path led him straight to its bank. Maskull stood there, gazing thoughtfully at the lapping, gurgling water. The forest continued on the opposite bank. Miles to the south, he could just make out Poolingdred. On the northern horizon, the Ifdawn Mountains loomed, high, wild, beautiful, and dangerous. They were less than twelve miles away.

Like the first mutterings of a thunderstorm, the first faint breaths of cool wind, Maskull felt the stirrings of passion in his heart. In spite of his bodily fatigue, he wished to test his strength against something. This craving he identified with the crags of the Marest. They seemed to have the same magical attraction for his will as the lodestone for iron. He kept biting his nails, as he turned his eyes in that direction—wondering if it would not be possible to conquer the heights that evening. But when he glanced back again at Poolingdred, he remembered Joiwind and Panawe, and grew more tranquil. He decided to make his bed at this spot, and to set off as soon after daybreak as he should awake.

Like the first rumblings of a thunderstorm and the first faint breaths of cool wind, passion stirred in Maskull’s heart. Despite his physical exhaustion, he wanted to test his strength against something. He felt that the crags of the Marest were what he wanted to test himself against. They seemed to draw his will as magically as a lodestone draws iron. He kept biting his nails as he looked toward them, wondering if he could conquer the heights that evening. But when he looked back at Poolingdred, he remembered Joiwind and Panawe and grew calmer. He decided to make his bed there and set off as soon as he woke after daybreak.

He drank at the river, washed himself, and lay down on the bank to sleep. By this time, so far had his idea progressed, that he cared nothing for the possible dangers of the night—he confided in his star.

He drank from the river, washed himself, and lay down on the bank to sleep. By now, his idea had progressed so far that he did not care about the possible dangers of the night. He trusted his star.

Branchspell set, the day faded, night with its terrible weight came on, and through it all Maskull slept. Long before midnight, however, he was awakened by a crimson glow in the sky. He opened his eyes, and wondered where he was. He felt heaviness and pain. The red glow was a terrestrial phenomenon; it came from among the trees. He got up and went toward the source of the light.

Branchspell set, the daylight faded, and night came with its terrible weight. Maskull slept through it all. But long before midnight, a crimson glow in the sky woke him. He opened his eyes and wondered where he was. He felt heavy and in pain. The red glow came from the ground, somewhere among the trees. He got up and went toward the light.

Away from the river, not a hundred feet off, he nearly stumbled across the form of a sleeping woman. The object which emitted the crimson rays was lying on the ground, several yards away from her. It was like a small jewel, throwing off sparks of red light. He barely threw a glance at that, however.

Less than a hundred feet from the river, he nearly stumbled over a sleeping woman. The object that gave off the crimson rays lay on the ground several yards away from her. It looked like a small jewel, throwing off sparks of red light. But he barely glanced at it.

The woman was clothed in the large skin of an animal. She had big, smooth, shapely limbs, rather muscular than fat. Her magn was not a thin tentacle, but a third arm, terminating in a hand. Her face, which was upturned, was wild, powerful, and exceedingly handsome. But he saw with surprise that in place of a breve on her forehead, she possessed another eye. All three were closed. The colour of her skin in the crimson glow he could not distinguish.

The woman wore the large skin of an animal. Her limbs were large, smooth, and shapely, more muscular than fat. Her magn was not a thin tentacle, but a third arm ending in a hand. Her upturned face was wild, powerful, and extremely handsome. But he was surprised to see that she had another eye on her forehead instead of a breve. All three eyes were closed. He could not make out the color of her skin in the crimson glow.

He touched her gently with his hand. She awoke calmly and looked up at him without stirring a muscle. All three eyes stared at him; but the two lower ones were dull and vacant—mere carriers of vision. The middle, upper one alone expressed her inner nature. Its haughty, unflinching glare had yet something seductive and alluring in it. Maskull felt a challenge in that look of lordly, feminine will, and his manner instinctively stiffened.

He touched her gently. She woke calmly and looked up at him without moving a muscle. All three eyes stared at him, but the two lower ones were dull and vacant, serving only to see. Only the upper middle eye revealed her inner nature. Its proud, unwavering glare was also seductive and alluring. Maskull felt challenged by that look of commanding, feminine will, and his manner instinctively stiffened.

She sat up.

“Can you speak my language?” he asked. “I wouldn’t put such a question, but others have been able to.”

“Can you speak my language?” he asked. “I wouldn’t ask, but others have been able to.”

“Why should you imagine that I can’t read your mind? Is it so extremely complex?”

“Why do you think I can’t read your mind? Is it really that complex?”

She spoke in a rich, lingering, musical voice, which delighted him to listen to.

She spoke in a rich, lingering, musical voice that he loved to hear.

“No, but you have no breve.”

“No, but you don't have a breve.”

“Well, but haven’t I a sorb, which is better?” And she pointed to the eye on her brow.

“Well, but don't I have a sorb, which is better?” She pointed to the eye on her forehead.

“What is your name?”

“Oceaxe.”

“And where do you come from?”

“Ifdawn.”

These contemptuous replies began to irritate him, and yet the mere sound of her voice was fascinating.

Her scornful replies began to irritate him, but the sound of her voice alone fascinated him.

“I am going there tomorrow,” he remarked.

“I’m going there tomorrow,” he said.

She laughed, as if against her will, but made no comment.

She laughed, as if she couldn't help it, but said nothing.

“My name is Maskull,” he went on. “I am a stranger—from another world.”

“My name is Maskull,” he continued. “I am a stranger from another world.”

“So I should judge, from your absurd appearance.”

“That's what I'd guess, judging by your ridiculous appearance.”

“Perhaps it would be as well to say at once,” said Maskull bluntly, “are we, or are we not, to be friends?”

“Perhaps we should settle this now,” Maskull said bluntly. “Are we going to be friends or not?”

She yawned and stretched her arms, without rising. “Why should we be friends? If I thought you were a man, I might accept you as a lover.”

She yawned and stretched her arms without getting up. “Why should we be friends? If I thought you were a man, I might take you as a lover.”

“You must look elsewhere for that.”

“You need to look somewhere else for that.”

“So be it, Maskull! Now go away, and leave me in peace.”

“All right, Maskull! Now go away and leave me in peace.”

She dropped her head again to the ground, but did not at once close her eyes.

She lowered her head to the ground again, but did not close her eyes right away.

“What are you doing here?” he interrogated.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Oh, we Ifdawn folk occasionally come here to sleep, for there often enough it is a night for us which has no next morning.”

“Oh, we Ifdawn folk sometimes come here to sleep. For us, a night there often has no morning after it.”

“Being such a terrible place, and seeing that I am a total stranger, it would be merely courteous if you were to warn me what I have to expect in the way of dangers.”

“This is such a terrible place, and I’m a complete stranger here. It would be only polite to warn me what dangers to expect.”

“I am perfectly and utterly indifferent to what becomes of you,” retorted Oceaxe.

“I don't care at all what happens to you,” Oceaxe shot back.

“Are you returning in the morning?” persisted Maskull.

“Are you coming back in the morning?” Maskull asked again.

“If I wish.”

“If I want to.”

“Then we will go together.”

She got up again on her elbow. “Instead of making plans for other people, I would do a very necessary thing.”

She propped herself up on her elbow again. “Instead of making plans for other people, I would do something very necessary.”

“Pray, tell me.”

“Please, tell me.”

“Well, there’s no reason why I should, but I will. I would try to convert my women’s organs into men’s organs. It is a man’s country.”

“Well, there’s no reason I should, but I will. I would try to turn my female organs into male ones. It’s a man’s country.”

“Speak more plainly.”

“Speak more clearly.”

“Oh, it’s plain enough. If you attempt to pass through Ifdawn without a sorb, you are simply committing suicide. And that magn too is worse than useless.”

“Oh, it’s clear enough. If you try to pass through Ifdawn without a sorb, you’re simply committing suicide. And that magn is worse than useless too.”

“You probably know what you are talking about, Oceaxe. But what do you advise me to do?”

“You probably know what you're talking about, Oceaxe. But what do you suggest I do?”

She negligently pointed to the light-emitting stone lying on the ground.

She casually pointed to the glowing stone on the ground.

“There is the solution. If you hold that drude to your organs for a good while, perhaps it will start the change, and perhaps nature will do the rest during the night. I promise nothing.”

“There’s the solution. If you hold that drude to your organs for a while, perhaps it will start the change. Perhaps nature will do the rest during the night. I promise nothing.”

Oceaxe now really turned her back on Maskull.

Oceaxe now actually turned her back on Maskull.

He considered for a few minutes, and then walked over to where the stone was lying, and took it in his hand. It was a pebble the size of a hen’s egg, radiant with crimson light, as though red-hot, and throwing out a continuous shower of small, blood-red sparks.

He thought for a few minutes, then walked over to the stone and picked it up. The pebble was the size of a hen’s egg. It glowed crimson, as if red-hot, and gave off a constant shower of small, blood-red sparks.

Finally deciding that Oceaxe’s advice was good, he applied the drude first to his magn, and then to his breve. He experienced a cauterising sensation—a feeling of healing pain.

Finally deciding that Oceaxe’s advice was good, he applied the drude first to his magn and then to his breve. He felt a burning sensation, a pain that felt healing.