The Haunted Woman & A Voyage to Arcturus. David Lindsay

onto the water. It flowed against them with a sluggish current, but the opposition, instead of hindering them, had the contrary effect—it caused them to exert themselves, and they moved faster. They climbed the river in this way for several miles. The exercise gradually improved the circulation of Maskull’s blood, and he began to look at things in a far more cheerful way. The hot sunshine, the diminished wind, the marvellous cloud scenery, the quiet, crystal forests—all was soothing and delightful. They approached nearer and nearer to the gaily painted heights of Ifdawn.

      There was something enigmatic to him in those bright walls. He was attracted by them, yet felt a sort of awe. They looked real, but at the same time very supernatural. If one could see the portrait of a ghost, painted with a hard, firm outline, in substantial colors, the feelings produced by such a sight would be exactly similar to Maskull’s impressions as he studied the Ifdawn precipices.

      He broke the long silence. “Those mountains have most extraordinary shapes. All the lines are straight and perpendicular—no slopes or curves.”

      She walked backward on the water, in order to face him. “That’s typical of Ifdawn. Nature is all hammer blows with us. Nothing soft and gradual.”

      “I hear you, but I don’t understand you.”

      “All over the Marest you’ll find patches of ground plunging down or rushing up. Trees grow fast. Women and men don’t think twice before acting. One may call Ifdawn a place of quick decisions.”

      Maskull was impressed. “A fresh, wild, primitive land.”

      “How is it where you come from?” asked Oceaxe.

      “Oh, mine is a decrepit world, where nature takes a hundred years to move a foot of solid land. Men and animals go about in flocks. Originality is a lost habit.”

      “Are there women there?”

      “As with you, and not very differently formed.”

      “Do they love?”

      He laughed. “So much so that it has changed the dress, speech, and thoughts of the whole sex.”

      “Probably they are more beautiful than I?”

      “No, I think not,” said Maskull.

      There was another rather long silence, as they travelled unsteadily onward.

      “What is your business in Ifdawn?” demanded Oceaxe suddenly.

      He hesitated over his answer. “Can you grasp that it’s possible to have an aim right in front of one, so big that one can’t see it as a whole?”

      She stole a long, inquisitive look at him, “What sort of aim?”

      “A moral aim.”

      “Are you proposing to set the world right?”

      “I propose nothing—I am waiting.”

      “Don’t wait too long, for time doesn’t wait—especially in Ifdawn.”

      “Something will happen,” said Maskull.

      Oceaxe threw a subtle smile. “So you have no special destination in the Marest?”

      “No, and if you’ll permit me, I will come home with you.”

      “Singular man!” she said, with a short, thrilling laugh. “That’s what I have been offering all the time. Of course you will come home with me. As for Crimtyphon...”

      “You mentioned that name before. Who is he?”

      “Oh! My lover, or, as you would say, my husband.”

      “This doesn’t improve matters,” said Maskull.

      “It leaves them exactly where they were. We merely have to remove him.”

      “We are certainly misunderstanding each other,” said Maskull, quite startled. “Do you by any chance imagine that I am making a compact with you?”

      “You will do nothing against your will. But you have promised to come home with me.”

      “Tell me, how do you remove husbands in Ifdawn?”

      “Either you or I must kill him.”

      He eyed her for a full minute. “Now we are passing from folly to insanity.”

      “Not at all,” replied Oceaxe. “It is the too-sad truth. And when you have seen Crimtyphon, you will realise it.”

      “I’m aware I am on a strange planet,” said Maskull slowly, “where all sorts of unheard of things may happen, and where the very laws of morality may be different. Still as far as I am concerned, murder is murder, and I’ll have no more to do with a woman who wants to make use of me, to get rid of her husband.”

      “You think me wicked?” demanded Oceaxe steadily.

      “Or mad.”

      “Then you had better leave me, Maskull—only—”

      “Only what?”

      “You wish to be consistent, don’t you? Leave all other mad and wicked people as well. Then you’ll find it easier to reform the rest.”

      Maskull frowned, but said nothing.

      “Well?” demanded Oceaxe, with a half smile.

      “I’ll come with you, and I’ll see Crimtyphon—if only to warn him.”

      Oceaxe broke into a cascade of rich, feminine laughter, but whether at the image conjured up by Maskull’s last words, or from some other cause, he did not know. The conversation dropped.

      At a distance of a couple of miles from the now towering cliffs, the river made a sharp, right-angled turn to the west, and was no longer of use to them on their journey. Maskull stared up doubtfully.

      “It’s a stiff climb for a hot morning.”

      “Let’s rest here a little,” said she, indicating a smooth flat island of black rock, standing up just out of the water in the middle of the river.

      They accordingly went to it, and Maskull sat down. Oceaxe, however, standing graceful and erect, turned her face toward the cliffs opposite, and uttered a piercing and peculiar call.

      “What is that for?” She did not answer. After waiting a minute, she repeated the call. Maskull now saw a large bird detach itself from the top of one of the precipices, and sail slowly down toward them. It was followed by two others. The flight of these birds was exceedingly slow and clumsy.

      “What are they?” he asked.

      She still returned no answer, but smiled rather peculiarly and sat down beside him. Before many minutes he was able to distinguish the shapes and colors of the flying monsters. They were not birds, but creatures with long, snakelike bodies, and ten reptilian legs apiece, terminating in fins which acted as wings. The bodies were of bright blue, the legs and fins were yellow. They were flying, without haste, but in a somewhat ominous fashion, straight toward them. He could make out a long, thin spike projecting from each of the heads.

      “They are shrowks,” explained Oceaxe at last. “If you want to know their intention, I’ll tell you. To make a meal of us. First of all their spikes will pierce us, and then their mouths, which are really suckers, will drain us dry of blood—pretty thoroughly too; there are no half measures with shrowks. They are toothless beasts, so don’t eat flesh.”

      “As you show such admirable sangfroid,” said Maskull dryly, “I take it there’s no particular danger.”

      Nevertheless he instinctively tried to get on to his feet and failed. A new form of paralysis was chaining him to the ground.

      “Are you trying to get up?” asked Oceaxe smoothly.

      “Well, yes, but those cursed reptiles seem to be nailing me down to the rock with their wills. May I ask if you had any special object in view in