“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?” Again he felt his brain being probed. “At this time of the year, for every hour’s daylight that you have in summer, we have two.” “The heat is terrific—and yet somehow I don’t feel so distressed by it as I would have expected.” “I feel it more than usual. It’s not difficult to account for it; you have some of my blood, and I have some of yours.” “Yes, every time I realise that, I—Tell me, Joiwind, will my blood alter, if I stay here long enough?—I mean, will it lose its redness and thickness, and become pure and thin and light-coloured, like yours?” “Why not? If you live as we live, you will assuredly grow like us.” “Do you mean food and drink?” “We eat no food, and drink only water.” “And on that you manage to sustain life?” “Well, Maskull, our water is good water,” replied Joiwind, smiling.