"I am perfectly and utterly indifferent to what becomes of you,"
retorted Oceaxe.
"Are you returning in the morning?" persisted Maskull.
"If I wish."
"Then we will go together."
She got up again on her elbow. "Instead of making plans for other people, I would do a very necessary thing."
"Pray, tell me."
"Well, there's no reason why I should, but I will. I would try to convert my women's organs into men's organs. It is a man's country."
"Speak more plainly."
"Oh, it's plain enough. If you attempt to pass through Ifdawn without a sorb, you are simply committing suicide. And that magn too is worse than useless."
"You probably know what you are talking about, Oceaxe. But what do you advise me to do?"
She negligently pointed to the light-emitting stone lying on the ground.
"There is the solution. If you hold that drude to your organs for a good while, perhaps it will start the change, and perhaps nature will do the rest during the night. I promise nothing."
Oceaxe now really turned her back on Maskull.
He considered for a few minutes, and then walked over and to where the stone was lying, and took it in his hand. It was a pebble the size of a hen's egg, radiant with crimson light, as though red-hot, and throwing out a continuous shower of small, blood-red sparks.
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.
Chapter 9
OCEAXE
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. His fleshy breve was altered into an eyelike sorb; his magn had swelled and developed into a third arm, springing from the breast. The arm gave him at once a sense of greater physical security, but with the sorb he was obliged to experiment, before he could grasp its function.
As he lay there in the white sunlight, opening and shutting each of his three eyes in turn, he found that the two lower ones served his understanding, the upper one his will. That is to say, with the lower eyes he saw things in clear detail, but without personal interest; with the sorb he saw nothing as self-existent - everything appeared as an object of importance or non-importance to his own needs.
Rather puzzled as to how this would turn out, he got up and looked about him. He had slept out of sight of Oceaxe. He was anxious to learn if she were still on the spot, but before going to ascertain he made up his mind to bathe in the river.
It was a glorious morning. The hot white sun already began to glare, but its heat was tempered by a strong wind, which whistled through the trees. A host of fantastic clouds filled the sky. They looked like animals, and were always changing shape. The ground, as well as the leaves and branches of the forest trees, still held traces of heavy dew or rain during the night. A poignantly sweet smell of nature entered his nostrils. His pain was quiescent, and his spirits were high.
Before he bathed, he viewed the mountains of the Ifdawn Marest. In the morning sunlight they stood out pictorially. He guessed that they were from five to six thousand feet high. The lofty, irregular, castellated line seemed like the walls of a magic city. The cliffs fronting him were composed of gaudy rocks - vermilion, emerald, yellow, ulfire, and black. As he gazed at them, his heart began to beat like a slow, heavy drum, and he thrilled all over - indescribable hopes, aspirations, and emotions came over him. It was more than the conquest of a new world which he felt - it was something different…
He bathed and drank, and as he was reclothing himself, Oceaxe strolled indolently up.
He could now perceive the colour of her skin - it was a vivid, yet delicate mixture of carmine, white, and jale. The effect was startlingly unearthly. With these new colors she looked like a genuine representative of a strange planet. Her frame also had something curious about it. The curves were womanly, the bones were characteristically female - yet all seemed somehow to express a daring, masculine underlying will. The commanding eye on her forehead set the same puzzle in plainer language. Its bold, domineering egotism was shot with undergleams of sex and softness.
She came to the river's edge and reviewed him from top to toe. "Now you are built more like a man," she said, in her lovely, lingering voice.
"You see, the experiment was successful," he answered, smiling gaily.
Oceaxe continued looking him over. "Did some woman give you that ridiculous robe?"
"A woman did give it to me" - dropping his smile - "but I saw nothing ridiculous in the gift at the time, and I don't now."
"I think I'd look better in it."
As she drawled the words, she began stripping off the skin, which suited her form so well, and motioned to him to exchange garments. He obeyed, rather shamefacedly, for he realised that the proposed exchange was in fact more appropriate to his sex. He found the skin a freer dress. Oceaxe in her drapery appeared more dangerously feminine to him.
"I don't want you to receive gifts at all from other women," she remarked slowly.
"Why not? What can I be to you?"
"I have been thinking about you during the night." 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.
"Still, if you have male instincts, as I suppose you have, you can't go on resisting me forever."
"But this is preposterous" said Maskull, opening his eyes wide. "Granted that you are a beautiful woman - we can't be quite so primeval."
Oceaxe sighed, and rose to her feet. "It doesn't matter. I can wait."
"From that I gather that you intend to make the journey in my society. I have no objection - in fact I shall be glad - but only on condition that you drop this language."
"Yet you do think me beautiful?"
"Why shouldn't I think so, if it is the fact? I fail to see what that has to do with my feelings. Bring it to an end, Oceaxe. You will find plenty of men to admire - and love you."
At that she blazed up. "Does love pick and choose, you fool? Do you imagine I am so hard put to it that I have to hunt for lovers? Is not Crimtyphon waiting for me at this very moment?"
"Very well. I am sorry to have hurt your feelings. Now carry the temptation no farther - for it is a temptation, where a lovely woman is concerned. I am not my own master."
"I'm not proposing anything so very hateful, am I? Why do you humiliate me so?"
Maskull put his hands behind his back. "I repeat, I am not my own master."
"Then who is your master?"
"Yesterday I saw Surtur, and from today I am serving him."
"Did you speak with him?" she asked curiously.
"I did."
"Tell me what he said."
"No, I can't - I won't. But whatever he said, his beauty was more tormenting than yours, Oceaxe, and that's why I can look at you in cold blood."
"Did Surtur forbid you to be a man?"
Maskull frowned. "Is love such a manly sport, then? I should have thought it effeminate."
"It doesn't matter. You won't always be so boyish. But don't try my patience too far."
"Let us talk about something else - and, above all, let us get on our road."
She suddenly broke into a laugh, so rich, sweet, and enchanting, that he grew half inflamed, and half wished to catch her body in his arms.
"Oh, Maskull, Maskull - what a fool you are!"
"In what way am I a fool?" he demanded, scowling not at her words, but at his own weakness.