“I am not frightened,” said Leehallfae quietly—ae had been gradually recovering aer tranquillity—“but when one has lived as long as I have, it is a serious matter to die. Every year one puts out new roots.”
“Decide what you’re going to do,” said Maskull with a touch of contempt, “for I’m going in at once.”
The phaen gave an odd, meditative stare down the ravine, and after that walked into the cavern without another word. Maskull, scratching his head, followed close at aer heels.
The moment they stepped across the bubbling spring, the atmosphere altered. Without becoming stale or unpleasant, it grew cold, clear and refined, and somehow suggested austere and tomblike thoughts. The daylight disappeared at the first bend in the tunnel. After that, Maskull could not say where the light came from. The air itself must have been luminous, for though it was as light as full moon on Earth, neither he nor Leehallfae cast a shadow. Another peculiarity of the light was that both the walls of the tunnel and their own bodies appeared colourless. Everything was black and white, like a lunar landscape. This intensified the solemn, funereal feelings created by the atmosphere.
After they had proceeded for about ten minutes, the tunnel began to widen out. The roof was high above their heads, and six men could have walked side by side. Leehallfae was visibly weakening. Ae dragged aerself along slowly and painfully, with sunken head.
Maskull caught hold of aer. “You can’t go on like that. Better let me take you back.”
The phaen smiled, and staggered. “I’m dying.”
“Don’t talk like that. It’s only a passing indisposition. Let me take you back to the daylight.”
“No, help me forward. I wish to see Faceny.”
“The sick must have their way,” said Maskull. Lifting aer bodily in his arms, he walked quickly along for another hundred yards or so. They then emerged from the tunnel and faced a world the parallel of which he had never set eyes upon before.
“Set me down!” directed Leehallfae feebly. “Here I’ll die.”
Maskull obeyed, and laid aer down at full length on the rocky ground. The phaen raised aerself with difficulty on one arm, and stared with fast-glazing eyes at the mystic landscape.
Maskull looked too, and what he saw was a vast, undulating plain, lighted as if by the moon—but there was of course no moon, and there were no shadows. He made out running streams in the distance. Beside them were trees of a peculiar kind; they were rooted in the ground, but the branches also were aerial roots, and there were no leaves. No other plants could be seen. The soil was soft, porous rock, resembling pumice. Beyond a mile or two in any direction the light merged into obscurity. At their back a great rocky wall extended on either hand; but it was not square like a wall, but full of bays and promontories like an indented line of sea cliffs. The roof of this huge underworld was out of sight. Here and there a mighty shaft of naked rock, fantastically weathered, towered aloft into the gloom, doubtless serving to support the roof. There were no colours—every detail of the landscape was black, white, or grey. The scene appeared so still, so solemn and religious, that all his feelings quieted down to absolute tranquillity.
Leehallfae fell back suddenly. Maskull dropped on his knees, and helplessly watched the last flickerings of aer spirit, going out like a candle in foul air. Death came. … He closed the eyes. The awful grin of Crystalman immediately fastened upon the phaen’s dead features.
While Maskull was still kneeling, he became conscious of someone standing beside him. He looked up quickly and saw a man, but did not at once rise.
“Another phaen dead,” said the newcomer in a grave, toneless, and intellectual voice.
Maskull got up.
The man was short and thickset but emaciated. His forehead was not disfigured by any organs. He was middle-aged. The features were energetic and rather coarse—yet it seemed to Maskull as though a pure, hard life had done something toward refining them. His sanguine eyes carried a twisted, puzzled look; some unanswerable problem was apparently in the forefront of his brain. His face was hairless; the hair of his head was short and manly; his brow was wide. He was clothed in a black, sleeveless robe, and bore a long staff in his hand. There was an air of cleanness and austerity about the whole man that was attractive.
He went on speaking dispassionately to Maskull, and, while doing so, kept passing his hand reflectively over his cheeks and chin. “They all find their way here to die. They come from Matterplay. There they live to an incredible age. Partly on that account, and partly because of their spontaneous origin, they regard themselves as the favoured children of Faceny. But when they come here to find him, they die at once.”
“I think this one is the last of the race. But whom do I speak to?”
“I am Corpang. Who are you, where do you come from, and what are you doing here?”
“My name is Maskull. My home is on the other side of the universe. As for what I am doing here—I accompanied Leehallfae, that phaen, from Matterplay.”
“But a man doesn’t accompany a phaen out of friendship. What do you want in Threal?”
“Then this is Threal?”
“Yes.”
Maskull remained silent.
Corpang studied his face with rough, curious eyes. “Are you ignorant, or merely reticent, Maskull?”
“I came here to ask questions, and not to answer them.”
The stillness of the place was almost oppressive. Not a breeze stirred, and not a sound came through the air. Their voices had been lowered, as though they were in a cathedral.
“Then do you want my society, or not?” asked Corpang.
“Yes, if you can fit in with my mood, which is—not to talk about myself.”
“But you must at least tell me where you want to go to.”
“I want to see what is to
