Not far away, in a hollow enclosed by a circle of little hills, they saw a small, circular lake, not more than half a mile in diameter.
The sunset colors of the sky were reflected in its waters.
"That must be Irontick," remarked Gleameil.
"What is that?"
"I have heard that it's the instrument Earthrid plays on.""We are getting close," responded he. "Let us go and investigate."When they drew nearer, they observed that a man was reclining on the farther side, in an attitude of sleep.
"If that's not the man himself, who can it be?" said Maskull. "Let's get across the water, if it will bear us; it will save time."He now assumed the lead, and took running strides down the slope which bounded the lake on that side. Gleameil followed him with greater dignity, keeping her eyes fixed on the recumbent man as if fascinated. When Maskull reached the water's edge, he tried it with one foot, to discover if it would carry his weight. Something unusual in its appearance led him to have doubts. It was a tranquil, dark, and beautifully reflecting sheet of water; it resembled a mirror of liquid metal. Finding that it would bear him, and that nothing happened, he placed his second foot on its surface.
Instantly he sustained a violent shock throughout his body, as from a powerful electric current; and he was hurled in a tumbled heap back on to the bank.
He picked himself up, brushed the dirt off his person, and started walking around the lake. Gleameil joined him, and they completed the half circuit together. They came to the man, and Maskull prodded him with his foot. He woke up, and blinked at them.
His face was pale, weak, and vacant-looking, and had a disagreeable expression. There were thin sprouts of black hair on his chin and head. On his forehead, in place of a third eye, he possessed a perfectly circular organ, with elaborate convolutions, like an ear.
He had an unpleasant smell. He appeared to be of young middle age.
"Wake up, man," said Maskull sharply, "and tell us if you are Earthrid.""What time is it?" counterquestioned the man. "Does it want long to moonrise?"Without appearing to care about an answer, he sat up, and turning away from them, began to scoop up the loose soil with his hand, and to eat it halfheartedly.
"Now, how can you eat that filth?" demanded Maskull, in disgust.
"Don't be angry, Maskull," said Gleameil, laying hold of his arm, and flushing a little. "It is Earthrid - the man who is to help us.""He has not said so."
"I am Earthrid," said the other, in his weak and muffled voice, which, however, suddenly struck Maskull as being autocratic. "What do you want here? Or rather, you had better get away as quickly as you can, for it will be too late when Teargeld rises.""You need not explain," exclaimed Maskull. "We know your reputation, and we have come to hear your music. But what's that organ for on your forehead?"Earthrid glared, and smiled, and glared again.
"That is for rhythm, which is what changes noise into music. Don't stand and argue, but go away. It is no pleasure to me to people the island with corpses. They corrupt the air, and do nothing else."Darkness now crept swiftly on over the landscape.
"You are rather bigmouthed," said Maskull coolly. "But after we have heard you play, perhaps I shall adventure a tune myself.""You? Are you a musician. then? Do you even know what music is?"A flame danced in Gleameil's eyes.
"Maskull thinks music reposes in the instrument," she said in her intense way. "But it is in the soul of the Master.""Yes," said Earthrid, "but that is not all. I will tell you what it is. In Threal, where I was born and brought up, we learn the mystery of the Three in nature. This world, which lies extended before us, has three directions. Length is the line which shuts off what is, from what is not. Breadth is the surface which shows us in what manner one thing of what-is, lives with another thing. Depth is the path which leads from what-is, to our own body. In music it is not otherwise. Tone is existence, without which nothing at all can be.
Symmetry and Numbers are the manner in which tones exist, one with another. Emotion is the movement of our soul toward the wonderful world that is being created. Now, men when they make music are accustomed to build beautiful tones, because of the delight they cause. Therefore their music world is based on pleasure; its symmetry is regular and charming, its emotion is sweet and lovely....
But my music is founded on painful tones; and thus its symmetry is wild, and difficult to discover; its emotion is bitter and terrible.""If I had not anticipated its being original, I would not have come here," said Maskull. "Still, explain - why can't harsh tones have simple symmetry of form? And why must they necessarily cause more profound emotions in us who listen?""Pleasures may harmonise. Pains must clash; and in the order of their clashing lies the symmetry. The emotions follow the music, which is rough and earnest.""You may call it music," remarked Maskull thoughtfully, "but to me it bears a closer resemblance to actual life.""If Shaping's plans had gone straight, life would have been like that other sort of music. He who seeks can find traces of that intention in the world of nature. But as it has turned out, real life resembles my music and mine is the true music.""Shall we see living shapes?"
"I don't know what my mood will be," returned Earthrid. "But when Ihave finished, you shall adventure your tune, and produce whatever shapes you please - unless, indeed, the tune is out of your own big body.""The shocks you are preparing may kill us," said Gleameil, in a low, taut voice, "but we shall die, seeing beauty."Earthrid looked at her with a dignified expression.
"Neither you, nor any other person, can endure the thoughts which Iput into my music. Still, you must have it your own way. It needed a woman to call it 'beauty.' But if this is beauty, what is ugliness?""That I can tell you, Master," replied Gleameil, smiling at him.
