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Updated: June 26, 2025
He pitched the pebbles over the edge of the chasm. Although hard and heavy in his hand, they sank more like feathers than stones, and left a long trail of vapour behind. While Maskull was still watching them disappear, Haunte came rushing out of the cavern, followed by Corpang. He gripped Maskull's arm excitedly. "What in Krag's name have you done?"
It was of no colour, and resembled nothing it was supernatural and indescribable. Maskull's spirit swelled. He stood fast, with expanded nostrils and terrible eyes. Sullenbode touched him lightly. "What do you see, Maskull?" "Muspel-light." "I see nothing." The light shot up, until Maskull scarcely knew where he stood. It burned with a fiercer and stranger glare than ever before.
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. Maskull's second day on Tormance dawned. Branchspell was already above the horizon when he awoke. He was instantly aware that his organs had changed during the night.
An awful agony, emanating from the wound, started to run through Maskull's body, and he began to doubt whether he would not have to faint, but it subsided almost immediately, and then he felt nothing but a gnawing ache in the injured arm, just strong enough to make life one long discomfort. "That's finished," said Krag. "Now you can follow me." Picking up the lantern, he walked toward the door.
The man or woman who wishes to invoke Shaping must take up some of the gnawl water, and drink it." "Pray for me," said Maskull. "Your unspotted prayer will carry more weight." "What do you wish for?" "For purity," answered Maskull, in a troubled voice. Joiwind made a cup of her hand, and drank a little of the water. She held it up to Maskull's mouth. "You must drink too." He obeyed.
"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. "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." "I'll set Maskull on his way," said Panawe.
"Krag won't want any, and one must do something. I feel restless." "Let us take a look at the country." The cup, which was on its way to Maskull's lips, remained poised in the air. "Have you anything in view, Nightspore?" "Let us walk out to the Gap of Sorgie." "What's that?" "A showplace," answered Nightspore, biting his lip. Maskull finished off the cup, and rose to his feet.
Her voice was retarded, scornful, viola-like. She sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree, and looked away. "In what way?" She returned no answer to his question, but began to pull off pieces of the bark. "Last night you were so contemptuous." "Last night is not today. Do you always walk through the world with your head over your shoulder?" It was now Maskull's turn to be silent.
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 gulf widened to two hundred feet.
When he spoke his words, Maskull's lips surprised him by their tender sensitiveness. Their action against each other sent thrills throughout his body. The grass shone dimly. A huge tree, with glowing branches, came into sight. It bore a multitude of red fruit, like hanging lanterns, but no leaves. Underneath this tree Sullenbode was sitting.
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