“What do you know of Surtur?” asked Maskull in astonishment.

Joiwind remained silent for a time, studying his face.  His brain moved restlessly, as though it were being probed from outside.  “I see.... and yet I don’t see,” she said at last.  “It is very difficult....  Your God is a dreadful Being—­bodyless, unfriendly, invisible.  Here we don’t worship a God like that.  Tell me, has any man set eyes on your God?”

“What does all this mean, Joiwind?  Why speak of God?”

“I want to know.”

“In ancient times, when the earth was young and grand, a few holy men are reputed to have walked and spoken with God, but those days are past.”

“Our world is still young,” said Joiwind.  “Shaping goes among us and converses with us.  He is real and active—­a friend and lover.  Shaping made us, and he loves his work.”

“Have you met him?” demanded Maskull, hardly believing his ears.

“No.  I have done nothing to deserve it yet.  Some day I may have an opportunity to sacrifice myself, and then I may be rewarded by meeting and talking with Shaping.”

“I have certainly come to another world.  But why do you say he is the same as Surtur?”

“Yes, he is the same.  We women call him Shaping, and so do most men, but a few name him Surtur.”

Maskull bit his nail.  “Have you ever heard of Crystalman?”

“That is Shaping once again.  You see, he has many names—­which shows how much he occupies our minds.  Crystalman is a name of affection.”

“It’s odd,” said Maskull.  “I came here with quite different ideas about Crystalman.”

Joiwind shook her hair.  “In that grove of trees over there stands a desert shrine of his.  Let us go and pray there, and then we’ll go on our way to Poolingdred.  That is my home.  It’s a long way off, and we must get there before Blodsombre.”

“Now, what is Blodsombre?”

“For about four hours in the middle of the day Branchspell’s rays are so hot that no one can endure them.  We call it Blodsombre.”

“Is Branchspell another name for Arcturus?”

Joiwind threw off her seriousness and laughed.  “Naturally we don’t take our names from you, Maskull.  I don’t think our names are very poetic, but they follow nature.”

She took his arm affectionately, and directed their walk towards the tree-covered hills.  As they went along, the sun broke through the upper mists and a terrible gust of scorching heat, like a blast from a furnace, struck Maskull’s head.  He involuntarily looked up, but lowered his eyes again like lightning.  All that he saw in that instant was a glaring ball of electric white, three times the apparent diameter of the sun.  For a few minutes he was quite blind.

“My God!” he exclaimed.  “If it’s like this in early morning you must be right enough about Blodsombre.”  When he had somewhat recovered himself he asked, “How long are the days here, Joiwind?”