Maskull felt a rising joy, as he continued standing in the presence of this individual. He believed that something good was happening to him. He found it physically difficult to bring any words out. “Why do you stop me?”
“Maskull, look well at me. Who am I?”
“I think you are Shaping.”
“I am Surtur.”
Maskull again attempted to meet his eyes, but felt as if he were being stabbed.
“You know that this is my world. Why do you think I have brought you here? I wish you to serve me.”
Maskull could no longer speak.
“Those who joke at my world,” continued the vision, “those who make a mock of its stern, eternal rhythm, its beauty and sublimity, which are not skin-deep, but proceed from fathomless roots—they shall not escape.”
“I do not mock it.”
“Ask me your questions, and I will answer them.”