“I have seen no eldila in your world,” he said.
“Eldila?” she repeated as if it were a new name to her.
“Yes. Eldila,” said Ransom, “the great and ancient servants of Maleldil. The creatures that neither breed nor breathe. Whose bodies are made of light. Whom we can hardly see. Who ought to be obeyed.”
She mused for a moment and then spoke. “Sweetly and gently this time Maleldil makes me older. He shows the all the natures of these blessed creatures. But there is no obeying them soot, not in this world. That is all the old order, Piebald, the far side of the wave that has rolled past us and will not come again. That very ancient world to which you journeyed was put under the eldila. In your own world also they ruled once: but not since our Beloved became a Man. In your world they linger still. But in our world, which is the first of worlds to wake after the great change, they have no power. There is nothing now between us and Him. They have grown less and we have increased. And now Maleldil puts it into my mind that this is their glory and their joy. They received us-us things of the low worlds, who breed and breathe-as weak and small beasts whom their lightest touch could destroy; and their glory was to cherish us and make us older till we were older than they-till they could fall at our feet. It is a joy we shall not have. However I teach the beasts they will never be better than I. But it is a joy beyond all. Not that it is better joy than ours. Every joy is beyond all others. The fruit we are eating is always the best fruit of all.”
“There have been eldila who did not think it a joy,” said Ransom.
“How?”
“You spoke yesterday, Lady, of clinging to the old good instead of taking the good that carne.”
“Yes-for a few heart-beats.”
“There was an eldil who clung longer who has been clinging since before the worlds were made.”
“But the old good would cease to be a good at all if he did that”
“Yes. It has ceased. And still he clings”
She stared at him in wonder and was about to speak, but he interrupted her.
“There is not time to explain,” he said.
“No time? What has happened to the time?” she asked. “Listen,” he said. “That thing down here has come through Deep Heaven from my world. There is a man in it: perhaps many men-”
“Look,” she said, “it is turning into two-one big and one small.”
Ransom saw that a small black object had detached itself from the space-ship and was beginning to move uncertainly away from it. It puzzled him for a moment. Then it dawned on him that Weston-if it was Weston-probed watery surface he had to expect on Venus with some kind of collapsible boat. But could it be that Weston, reckoned with tides or storms and did not foresee be impossible for him ever to recover the space-ship? It was not like Weston to cut off his own retreat. An he certainly did not wish Weston’s retreat to be cut off. A Weston who could not, even if he chose, return to Earth, was an insoluble problem. Anyway, what could he, Ransom do without support from the eldila? He began to smart under a sense of injustice. What was the good of sending him-a mere scholar-to cope with a situation of this sort? And pugilist, or, better still, any man who could make good tommy-gun, would have been more to the purpose they could find this King whom the Green Woman talking about . . .
But while these thoughts were passing through his became aware of a dim murmuring or growling sour had gradually been encroaching on the silence for son “Look,” said the Lady suddenly, and pointed to the islands. Their surface was no longer level. At the sa meat he realised that the noise was that of waves: snot as yet, but definitely beginning to foam on the rocky headlands of the Fixed Island. “The sea is rising,” said the Lad, must go down and leave this land at once. Soon. thl will be too great-and I must not be here by night.”
“Not that way,” shouted Ransom. “Not where you will the man from my world.”
“Why?” said the Lady. “I am Lady and Mother of this world. If the King is not here, who else should meet the stranger?”
“I will meet him.”
“It is not your world, Piebald,” she replied.
“You do not understand,” said Ransom. “This man-he is a friend of that eldil of whom I told you-one of those who cling to the wrong good.”
“Then I must explain it to him,” said the Lady. “Let us go and make him older,” and with that she slung herself the rocky edge of the plateau and began descending the mossy slope. Ransom took longer to manage the rocks; but once feet were again on the turf he began running as fast as he could. The Lady cried out in surprise as he flashed past her but he took no notice. He could now see clearly which bay the little boat was making for and his attention was fully occupied in directing his course and making sure of his feet. There was only one man in the boat. Down and down the long slope he raced. Now he was in a fold: now in a winding valley which momentarily cut off the sight of the sea. Now at last he was in the cove itself. He glanced back and saw to his dismay that the Lady had also been running and was only a few yards behind, He glanced forward again. There were waves, though not yet very large ones, breaking on the pebbly beach. A man in shirt and shorts and a pith helmet was ankle-deep in the water, wading ashore and pulling after him a little canvas punt. It was certainly Weston, though his face had something about it which seemed subtly unfamiliar. It seemed to Ransom of vital importance to prevent a meeting between Weston and the Lady. He had seen Weston murder an inhabitant of Malacandra. He turned back, stretching out both arms to bar her way and shouting “Go back !” She was too near. For a second she was almost in his arms. Then she stood back from him; panting from the race, surprised, her mouth opened to spec But at that moment he heard Weston’s voice, from behind him; saying in English, “May I ask you, Dr Ransom, what is the meaning of this?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
IN all the circumstances it would have been reasonable to expect that Weston would be much more taken aback at Ransom’s presence than Ransom could be at his. But if he were, he showed no sign of it, and Ransom could hardly help admiring the massive egoism which enabled this man in the very moment of his arrival on an unknown world to stand there unmoved in all his authoritative vulgarity, his arms akimbo, his face scowling, and his feet planted as solidly on that unearthly soil as if he had been standing with his back to the fire in his own study. Then, with a shock, he noticed that Weston was speaking to the Lady in the Old Solar language with perfect fluency. On Malacandra, partly from incapacity, and much more from his contempt for the inhabitants, he had never acquired more than a smattering of it. Here was an inexplicable and disquieting novelty. Ransom felt that his only advantage had been taken from him. He felt that he was now in the presence of the incalculable. If the scales had been suddenly weighted in this one respect, what might come next?