“How has this come about—and how did you know it?”
“They were Faceny’s organs. They have vanished, just as the phaen’s body vanished.”
Maskull kept rubbing his forehead. “I feel more human without them. But why isn’t the rest of my body affected?”
“Because its living will contains the element of Thire.”
“Why are we stopping here?”
Corpang broke off the tip of one of the aerial roots of a tree, and proffered it to him. “Eat this, Maskull.”
“For food, or something else?”
“Food for body and soul.”
Maskull bit into the root. It was white and hard; its white sap was bleeding. It had no taste, but after eating it, he experienced a change of perception. The landscape, without alteration of light or outline, became several degrees more stern and sacred. When he looked at Corpang he was impressed by his aspect of Gothic awfulness, but the perplexed expression was still in his eyes.
“Do you spend all your time here, Corpang?”
“Occasionally I go above, but not often.”
“What fastens you to this gloomy world?”
“The search for Thire.”
“Then it’s still a search?”
“Let us walk on.”
As they resumed their journey across the dim, gradually rising plain, the conversation became even more earnest in character than before. “Although I was not born here,” proceeded Corpang, “I’ve lived here for twenty-five years, and during all that time I have been drawing nearer to Thire, as I hope. But there is this peculiarity about it—the first stages are richer in fruit and more promising than the later ones. The longer a man seeks Thire, the more he seems to absent himself. In the beginning he is felt and known, sometimes as a shape, sometimes as a voice, sometimes an overpowering emotion. Later on all is dry, dark, and harsh in the soul. Then you would think that Thire was a million miles off.”
“How do you explain that?”
“When everything is darkest, he may be nearest, Maskull.”
“But this is troubling you?”
“My days are spent in torture.”
“You still persist, though? This day darkness can’t be the ultimate state?”
“My questions will be answered.”
A silence ensued.
“What do you propose to show me?” asked Maskull.
“The land is about to grow wilder. I am taking you to the Three Figures, which were carved and erected by an earlier race of men. There, we will pray.”
“And what then?”
“If you are truehearted, you will see things you will not easily forget.”
They had been walking slightly uphill in a sort of trough between two parallel, gently sloping downs. The trough now deepened, while the hills on either side grew steeper. They were in an ascending valley and, as it curved this way and that, the landscape was shut off from view. They came to a little spring, bubbling up from the ground. It formed a trickling brook, which was unlike all other brooks in that it was flowing up the valley instead of down. Before long it was joined by other miniature rivulets, so that in the end it became a fair-sized stream. Maskull kept looking at it, and puckering his forehead.
“Nature has other laws here, it seems?”
“Nothing can exist here that is not a compound of the three worlds.”
“Yet the water is flowing somewhere.”
“I can’t explain it, but there are three wills in it.”
“Is there no such thing as pure Thire-matter?”
“Thire cannot exist without Amfuse, and Amfuse cannot exist without Faceny.”
Maskull thought this over for some minutes. “That must be so,” he said at last. “Without life there can be no love, and without love there can be no religious feeling.”
In the half light of the land, the tops of the hills containing the valley presently attained such a height that they could not be seen. The sides were steep and craggy, while the bed of the valley grew narrower at every step. Not a living organism was visible. All was unnatural and sepulchral.
Maskull said, “I feel as if I were dead, and walking in another world.”
“I still do not know what you are doing here,” answered Corpang.
“Why should I go on making a mystery of it? I came to find Surtur.”
“That name I’ve heard—but under what circumstances?”
“You forget?”
Corpang walked along, his eyes fixed on the ground, obviously troubled. “Who is Surtur?”
Maskull shook his head, and said nothing.
The valley shortly afterward narrowed, so that the two men, touching fingertips in the middle, could have placed their free hands on the rock walls on either side. It threatened to terminate in a cul-de-sac, but just when the road seemed least promising, and they were shut in by cliffs on all sides, a hitherto unperceived bend brought them suddenly into the open. They emerged through a mere crack in the line of precipices.
A sort of huge natural corridor was running along at right angles to the way they had come; both ends faded into obscurity after a few hundred yards. Right down the centre of this corridor ran a chasm with perpendicular sides; its width varied from thirty to a hundred feet, but its bottom could not be seen. On both sides of the chasm, facing one another, were platforms of rock, twenty feet or so in width; they too proceeded in both directions out of sight. Maskull and Corpang emerged onto one of these platforms. The shelf opposite was a few feet higher than that on which they stood. The platforms were backed by a double line of lofty and unclimbable cliffs, whose tops were invisible.
The stream, which had accompanied them through the gap, went straight forward, but, instead of descending the wall of the chasm as a waterfall, it crossed from side to side like a liquid bridge. It then disappeared through a cleft in the cliffs on the opposite side.
To Maskull’s mind, however, even more wonderful than this unnatural phenomenon was the absence of shadows, which was more noticeable here than on the open plain. It made the place look like a hall of phantoms.
Corpang, without delay, led the way along the shelf to the left. When they had walked about a mile, the
