to be climbable.
He did not see the Lady again that day. Early next morning, after he had amused himself by swimming for a little and eaten his first meal, he was again seated on the shore looking out towards the Fixed Land. Suddenly he heard her voice behind him and looked round. She had come forth from the woods with some beasts, as usual, following her. Her words had been words of greeting, but she showed no disposition to talk. She came and stood on the edge of the floating island beside him and looked with him towards the Fixed Land.
“I will go there,” she said at last.
“May I go with you?” asked Ransom.
“If you will,” said the Lady. “But you see it is the Fixed Land.”
“That is why I wish to tread on it,” said Ransom. “In my world all the lands are fixed, and it would give me pleasure to walk in such a land again.”
She gave a sudden exclamation of surprise and stared at him.
“Where, then, do you live in your world?” she asked.
“On the lands.”
“But you said they are all fixed.”
“Yes. We live on the fixed lands.”
For the first time since they had met, something not quite unlike an expression of horror or disgust passed over her face.
“But what do you do during the nights?”
“During the nights?” said Ransom in bewilderment. “Why, we sleep, of course.”
“But where?”
“Where we live. On the land.”
She remained in deep thought so long that Ransom feared she was never going to speak again. When she did, her voice was hushed and once more tranquil, though the note of joy had not yet returned to it.
“He has never bidden you not to,” she said, less as a question than as a statement.
“No,” said Ransom.
“There can, then, be different laws in different worlds.”
“Is there a law in your world not to sleep in a Fixed Land?”
“Yes,” said the Lady. “He does not wish us to dwell there. We may land on them and walk on them, for the world is ours. But to stay there—to sleep and awake there . . .” she ended with a shudder.
“You couldn’t have that law in our world,” said Ransom. “There are no floating lands with us.”
“How many of you are there?” asked the Lady suddenly.
Ransom found that he didn’t know the population of the Earth, but contrived to give her some idea of many millions. He had expected her to be astonished, but it appeared that numbers did not interest her. “How do you all find room on your Fixed Land?” she asked.
“There is not one fixed land, but many,” he answered. “And they are big: almost as big as the sea.”
“How do you endure it?” she burst out. “Almost half your world empty and dead. Loads and loads of land, all tied down. Does not the very thought of it crush you?”
“Not at all,” said Ransom. “The very thought of a world which was all sea like yours would make my people unhappy and afraid.”
“Where will this end?” said the Lady, speaking more to herself than to him. “I have grown so old in these last few hours that all my life before seems only like the stem of a tree, and now I am like the branches shooting out in every direction. They are getting so wide apart that I can hardly bear it. First to have learned that I walk from good to good with my own feet . . . that was a stretch enough. But now it seems that good is not the same in all worlds; that Maleldil has forbidden in one what He allows in another.”
“Perhaps my world is wrong about this,” said Ransom rather feebly, for he was dismayed at what he had done.
“It is not so,” said she. “Maleldil Himself has told me now. And it could not be so, if your world has no floating lands. But He is not telling me why He has forbidden it to us.”
“There’s probably some good reason,” began Ransom, when he was interrupted by her sudden laughter.
“Oh, Piebald, Piebald,” she said, still laughing. “How often the people of your race speak!”
“I’m sorry,” said Ransom, a little put out.
“What are you sorry for?”
“I am sorry if you think I talk too much.”
“Too much? How can I tell what would be too much for you to talk?”
“In our world when they say a man talks much they mean they wish him to be silent.”
“If that is what they mean, why do they not say it?”
“What made you laugh?” asked Ransom, finding her question too hard.
“I laughed, Piebald, because you were wondering, as I was, about this law which Maleldil has made for one world and not for another. And you had nothing to say about it and yet made the nothing up into words.”
“I had something to say, though,” said Ransom almost under his breath. “At least,” he added in a louder voice, “this forbidding is no hardship in such a world as yours.”
“That also is a strange thing to say,” replied the Lady. “Who thought of its being hard? The beasts would not think it hard if I told them to walk on their heads. It would become their delight to walk on their heads. I am His beast, and all His biddings are joys. It is not that which makes me thoughtful. But it was coming into my mind to wonder whether there are two kinds of bidding.”
“Some of our wise men have said . . .” began Ransom, when she interrupted him.
“Let us wait and ask the King,” she said. “For I think, Piebald, you do not know much more about this than I do.”
“Yes, the King, by all means,” said Ransom. “If only we can find him.” Then, quite involuntarily, he added in English, “By Jove! What was that?” She also had exclaimed. Something like a shooting star seemed to have streaked across the sky, far away on their left, and some seconds later an indeterminate noise reached their ears.
“What was that?” he asked again, this time in Old Solar.
“Something has fallen out of Deep Heaven,” said the Lady. Her face showed wonder and curiosity: but on earth we so rarely see these emotions without some admixture of defensive fear that her expression seemed strange to him.
“I think you’re right,” said he. “Hullo! What’s this?” The calm sea had swelled and all the weeds at the edge of their island were in movement. A single wave passed under their island and all was still again.
“Something has certainly fallen into the sea,” said the Lady. Then
