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.""I have nothing."
"It is. necessary for you to serve me, Maskull. Do you not understand? You are my servant and helper.""I shall not fail."
"This is for my sake, and not for yours."These last words had no sooner left Surtur's mouth than Maskull saw him spring suddenly upward and outward. Looking up at the vault of the sky, he saw the whole expanse of vision filled by Surtur's form -not as a concrete man, but as a vast, concave cloud image, looking down and frowning at him. Then the spectacle vanished, as a light goes out.
Maskull stood inactive, with a thumping heart. Now he again heard the solitary trumpet note. The sound began this time faintly in the far distance in front of him, travelled slowly toward him with regularly increasing intensity, passed overhead at its loudest, and then grew more and more quiet, wonderful, and solemn, as it fell away in the rear, until the note was merged in the deathlike silence of the forest. It appeared to Maskull like the closing of a marvellous and important chapter.