“Do we get out?” inquired Maskull.
“Yes. I live here.”
“Thanks for the successful end of a dangerous journey.”
“Yes, it has been touch-and-go.”
Corpang jumped onto the platform. He was smiling coarsely. “There has been no danger, for our destinies lie elsewhere. You are merely a ferryman, Haunte.”
“Is that so?” returned Haunte, with a most unpleasant laugh. “I thought I was carrying men, not gods.”
“Where are we?” asked Maskull. As he spoke, he got out, but Haunte remained standing a minute in the boat.
“This is Sarclash—the second highest mountain in the land.”
“Which is the highest, then?”
“Adage. Between Sarclash and Adage there is a long ridge—very difficult in places. About halfway along the ridge, at the lowest point, lies the top of the Mornstab Pass, which goes through to Barey. Now you know the lay of the land.”
“Does the woman Sullenbode live near here?”
“Near enough.” Haunte grinned.
He leaped out of the boat and, pushing past the others without ceremony, walked straight into the cave.
Maskull followed, with Corpang at his heels. A few stone steps led to a doorway, curtained by the skin of some large beast. Their host pushed his way in, never offering to hold the skin aside for them. Maskull made no comment, but grabbed it with his fist and tugged it away from its fastenings to the ground. Haunte looked at the skin, and then stared hard at Maskull with his disagreeable smile, but neither said anything.
The place in which they found themselves was a large oblong cavern, with walls, floor, and ceiling of natural rock. There were two doorways: that by which they had entered, and another of smaller size directly opposite. The cave was cold and cheerless; a damp draft passed from door to door. Many skins of wild animals lay scattered on the ground. A number of lumps of sun-dried flesh were hanging on a string along the wall, and a few bulging liquor skins reposed in a corner. There were tusks, horns, and bones everywhere. Resting against the wall were two short hunting spears, having beautiful crystal heads.
Haunte set down the two male stones on the ground, near the farther door; their light illuminated the whole cave. He then walked over to the meat and, snatching a large piece, began to gnaw it ravenously.
“Are we invited to the feast?” asked Maskull.
Haunte pointed to the hanging flesh and to the liquor skins, but did not pause in his chewing.
“Where’s a cup?” inquired Maskull, lifting one of the skins.
Haunte indicated a clay goblet lying on the floor. Maskull picked it up, undid the neck of the skin, and, resting it under his arm, filled the cup. Tasting the liquor, he discovered it to be raw spirit. He tossed off the draught, and then felt much better.
The second cupful he proffered to Corpang. The latter took a single sip, swallowed it, and then passed the cup back without a word. He refused to drink again, as long as they were in the cave. Maskull finished the cup, and began to throw off care.
Going to the meat line, he took down a large double handful, and sat down on a pile of skins to eat at his ease. The flesh was tough and coarse, but he had never tasted anything sweeter. He could not understand the flavour, which was not surprising in a world of strange animals. The meal proceeded in silence. Corpang ate sparingly, standing up, and afterward lay down on a bundle of furs. His bold eyes watched all the movements of the other two. Haunte had not drunk as yet.
At last Maskull concluded his meal. He emptied another cup, sighed pleasantly, and prepared to talk.
“Now explain further about your women, Haunte.”
Haunte fetched another skin of liquor and a second cup. He tore off the string with his teeth, and poured out and drank cup after cup in quick succession. Then he sat down, crossed his legs, and turned to Maskull.
“Well?”
“So they are objectionable?”
“They are deadly.”
“Deadly? In what way can they possibly be deadly?”
“You will learn. I was watching you in the boat, Maskull. You had some bad feelings, eh?”
“I don’t conceal it. There were times when I felt as if I were struggling with a nightmare. What caused it?”
“The female atmosphere of Lichstorm. Sexual passion.”
“I had no passion.”
“That was passion—the first stage. Nature tickles your people into marriage, but it tortures us. Wait till you get outside. You’ll have a return of those sensations—only ten times worse. The drink you’ve had will see to that. … How do you suppose it will all end?”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking you questions.”
Haunte laughed loudly. “Sullenbode.”
“You mean it will end in my seeking Sullenbode?”
“But what will come of it, Maskull? What will she give you? Sweet, fainting, white-armed, feminine voluptuousness?”
Maskull coolly drank another cup. “And why should she give all that to a passerby?”
“Well, as a matter of fact, she hasn’t it to give. No, what she will give you, and what you’ll accept from her, because you can’t help it, is—anguish, insanity, possibly death.”
“You may be talking sense, but it sounds like raving to me. Why should I accept insanity and death?”
“Because your passion will force you to.”
“What about yourself?” Maskull asked, biting his nails.
“Oh, I have my male stones. I am immune.”
“Is that all that prevents you from being like other men?”
“Yes, but don’t attempt any tricks, Maskull.”
Maskull went on drinking steadily, and said nothing for a time. “So men and women here are hostile to each other, and love is unknown?” he proceeded at last.
“That magic word. … Shall I tell you what love is, Maskull? Love between male and female is impossible. When Maskull loves a woman, it is Maskull’s female ancestors who are loving her. But here in this land the men are
