“Fear nothing, Maskull and Tydomin; this pain is eating up the evil in your nature.  The road you are walking cannot remain unwalked.  We shall arrive before dark.”

The sun then disappeared behind the far-distant ridges that formed the western boundary of the Ifdawn Marest.  The sky blazed up into more vivid colors.  The wind grew colder.

They passed some pools of colourless gnawl water, round the banks of which were planted fruit trees.  Maskull ate some of the fruit.  It was hard, bitter, and astringent; he could not get rid of the taste, but he felt braced and invigorated by the downward-flowing juices.  No other trees or shrubs were to be seen anywhere.  No animals appeared, no birds or insects.  It was a desolate land.

A mile or two passed, when they again approached the edge of the plateau.  Far down, beneath their feet, the great Wombflash Forest began.  But daylight had vanished there; Maskull’s eyes rested only on a vague darkness.  He faintly heard what sounded like the distant sighing of innumerable treetops.

In the rapidly darkening twilight, they came abruptly on a man.  He was standing in a pool, on one leg.  A pile of boulders had hidden him from their view.  The water came as far up as his calf.  A trifork, similar to the one Maskull had seen on Disscourn, but smaller, had been stuck in the mud close by his hand.

They stopped by the side of the pond, and waited.  Immediately he became aware of their presence, the man set down his other leg, and waded out of the water toward them, picking up his trifork in doing so.

“This is not Maulger, but Catice,” said Spadevil.

“Maulger is dead,” said Catice, speaking the same tongue as Spadevil, but with an even harsher accent, so that the tympanum of Maskull’s ear was affected painfully.

The latter saw before him a bowed, powerful individual, advanced in years.  He wore nothing but a scanty loincloth.  His trunk was long and heavy, but his legs were rather short.  His face was beardless, lemon-coloured, and anxious-looking.  It was disfigured by a number of longitudinal ruts, a quarter of an inch deep, the cavities of which seemed clogged with ancient dirt.  The hair of his head was black and sparse.  Instead of the twin membranous organs of Spadevil, he possessed but one; and this was in the centre of his brow.

Spadevil’s dark, solid person stood out from the rest like a reality among dreams.

“Has the trifork passed to you?” he demanded.

“Yes.  Why have you brought this woman to Sant?”

“I have brought another thing to Sant.  I have brought the new faith.”

Catice stood motionless, and looked troubled.  “State it.”

“Shall I speak with many words, or few words?”

“If you wish to say what is not, many words will not suffice.  If you wish to say what is, a few words will be enough.”

Spadevil frowned.