Wolff hit the ground and rolled, knowing that he was disturbing the feelers but unable to prevent it. He came up on his feet, clumps of glued-together sticks and leaves raining around him from the shattered nest. He got to one side just in time to escape being hit by the body of the half-stunned flier. However, the blow would not have been a full one, since the creature had slowed its fall with an instinctive outspreading of wings.
By then, the earth-skin was reacting to the messages transmitted by the feelers. Not only Wolff had contacted them. The other Lords had scattered when Wolff fell, and they had brushed against hairs all around the tree.
“Back to the tree,” Wolff yelled at them. Vala had anticipated his advice; she was already halfway up the trunk. He began shinnying after Vala, only to feel talons sharp and hot as glowing-white hooks fasten into his back. The flying beast had recovered and was at him again. Once more, he let loose and fell backward. He kicked his feet against the trunk and shoved out to throw himself into a horizontal attitude. And so he came down hard but with the beast below him.
Two breaths whooshed out, his and that of the beast crushed beneath him. Less hurt, Wolff rolled off, stood up, and kicked the thing in the ribs. Its mouth gaped beneath the brownish beak, its two saber teeth covered with saliva and blood. Wolff kicked again and turned back to the tree. He was bowled over by two Lords frantic to get to the safety of the tree. Tharmas stepped on his head and used it as a springboard to leap for the trunk. Rintrah pulled him down, shoved him away, and started to climb. Staggering back from the push, Tharmas fell over Wolff, who was just getting to his hands and knees.
From her perch near the top of the tree, Vala was laughing hysterically. She laughed and pounded her thigh and then, suddenly, shrieked. Her hold lost, she fell hard, broke off a branch, turned over, and came down on her shoulder. She lay stunned at the base of the tree.
Theotormon was perhaps the most terrified. Still huge despite the many pounds of fat that had thawed off him, and handicapped by having flippers, he had a hard time scaling the tree. He kept slipping back down, the while he could not refrain from looking over his shoulder and gibbering.
Wolff managed to get to his feet. Around him, around the tree, rather, the skin was going mad. It rose in great waves that chased after Luvah and Ariston. These two were going around in circles with great speed, their fright giving their weary and hungry bodies fresh strength. Behind them, the earth flesh rose up, moved swiftly after them, then began to curl over. Other waves appeared ahead of them, and pits yawned beneath their feet.
Suddenly, Luvah and Ariston passed each other, and the various moving tumors and depressions hot on their heels collided. Wolff was confused by the chaos of tossing, bumping, smacking, gulping shapes of protoplasm. More than anything, the scene resembled a collection of maelstroms.
Before the skin could get its signals straight and reorganize, it had lost Ariston and Luvah. They gained the trunk of the tree, but they impeded each other’s ascent. While they were clawing at each other, Wolff picked up the body of the flier and hurled it from him as far as he could. It landed on an advancing swell, which stopped the moment it detected the carcass. A depression appeared around and beneath the body. Slowly, it sank until it was below the surface. Then the lips of the hole closed over it, and there was only a mound and a seam to show what was beneath.
The flier had been a sacrifice, since Wolff had wanted to keep the body for food. The area around the tree smoothed out, made a few ripples, and became as inert as if it were truly made of earth. Wolff went around the tree to examine Vala. She was sitting up, breathing hard, her face twisted with pain. Since the skin was springy, the impact had not been as hard as if it had occurred on hard dirt. She was bruised on her shoulder and the side of her face, and for a while she could not move her arm.
Her worst injury seemed to be to her dignity. She cursed them for a pack of cowardly fools and males fit only to be slaves—if that. The Lords were abashed by her insults or sullen. They felt that she was right; they were ashamed. But they were certainly not going to admit the truth.
Wolff began to think the whole affair had been funny. He started laughing, then straightened up with a groan. He had forgotten the gashes inflicted by the flier’s talons. Luvah looked at his back and clucked. The blood was still oozing out, although he expected that it would soon stop flowing. He said he hoped that Wolff would not become infected, since there was no medicine to be had.
“You’re very cheerful,” Wolff growled. He looked around for the eggs. One was smashed and spread over the base of the tree. The other was nowhere in sight and presumably had been swallowed by the skin.
“Oh, Los!” moaned Ariston. “What do we do now? We’re about to die of hunger; we’re lost; we can’t leave this tree without being swallowed alive by that monster. Our father has killed us, and we have not even gotten close to his stronghold.”
“You Lords and Makers of Universes are pitiful creatures indeed when stripped of your fortress walls and your weapons,” Wolff said. “I’ll tell you another old Earth proverb. There’s more than one way to skin a cat.”
“What cat? Where?” Theotormon said. “I could eat a dozen cats right now.”
Wolff rolled his eyes upwards but did not answer. He told the others either to get on the other side of the tree or go up it. Then he took Theotormon’s knife and went out a few feet from the tree. Squatting, he jammed the knife with all his strength into the skin. If it was flexible enough to shape itself into rough pseudopods or holes, it had to be vulnerable.
He snatched the knife out of the wound and rose and retreated a few steps. The skin shrank away, became a hole, then a cone formed around the wound, and the cone thrust up, like a crater slowly building itself. Wolff stood patiently. Soon the crater flattened out, and the wound was revealed. Instead of the blood he had been half-expecting, a thin pale liquid oozed out.
He approached the wound, taking care to avoid the hairs near it. Quickly he slashed at the skin again, dug out a quivering mass of flesh, and ran back to the tree. There was a storm of protoplasmic shapes once more: waves, craters, ridges, and brief swirlings in which the flesh formed corkscrew pillars. Then it subsided.
Wolff said, “The skin immediately around the tree seems to be tougher and less flexible than that further away. I think we’re safe as long as we stand on it, although the skin might be capable of a … a tidal wave that could sweep us off. Anyway, we can eat.”
The other Lords took turns cutting out chunks. The raw flesh was tough, slimy with ichor, and ill-smelling, but it could be chewed and swallowed. With something in their bellies, they felt stronger and more optimistic. Some lay down to sleep; Wolff walked to the shore. Vala and Theotormon followed him, and Luvah, seeing them, decided to go along. The land area ended abruptly with no beach for transition. Along the edge there were so few feelers they could relax a little. Wolff stood on the very edge and looked into the water. Despite the fact that there was no sun to cast its beams, the clear water allowed him to see quite deep into it.
There were many fish of various sizes, shapes, and colors swimming close to shore. Even as he watched, he saw a long slender pale tentacle shoot out from under the edge and seize a large fish. The fish struggled but was drawn quickly back under the edge. Wolff got down on all fours and leaned out over the edge to see what kind of creature it was that had caught the prey. The rim on which he stood extended out quite far. In fact, he could not see the base of the land. Instead, he saw a mass of writhing tentacles, many of which gripped fish. And farther back were tentacles that hung deep into the abyss. Presently, one coiled upon itself and brought up a gigantic fish from the deeps.
He withdrew his head hastily, since one of the nearby tentacles was snaking out and up in his general direction. He said, “I wondered how such a monster could get enough to eat. It must feed mainly on the sea life. And I’ll bet that this animal on which we stand is a vast floater. Like the islands of the waterworld, this thing is free, unattache
d to any base.”
“That’s nice to know,” Luvah said. “But how does that help us?”
“We need more to eat,” Wolff replied. “Theotormon, you’re the swimmer among us. Would you jump in and swim around a bit? Stay close to shore and be ready to shoot back in. Come out fast, like a seal.”
Theotormon said, “Why should I? You saw how those tentacles grabbed those fish.”
“I think they’re grabbing blindly. Maybe they can detect vibrations in the water, I don’t know. But you’re fast enough to evade them. And the tentacles immediately under this edge are small.”
Theotormon shook his head. “No, I won’t risk my life for you.”
“You’ll starve if you don’t,” Wolff said. “We can’t keep on cutting out chunks of skin. It gets too violent.”
He pointed at a fish that was just skimming by below the surface. It was fat and sluggish with a head shaped like a sphinx. “Wouldn’t you like to sink your teeth in that?”
Theotormon drooled, and his belly thundered, but he would not go after it.
“Give me your knife, then,” Wolff said. He removed the weapon from its scabbard before Theotormon, standing on one leg, could lift the other to clutch the hilt with his toes. He turned and ran and dived out as far as he could. The fish wheeled away from him and scooted away. It was slow but not so slow that he could catch it. Nor had he thought he could. He was interested in finding out if a tentacle, feeling the vibrations of the splash and his strokes, would come probing for him.
One did. It undulated down from the fleshy base to which it was attached and then out towards him. He swam back towards the shore, dipping his head below the water to watch it. When he saw it suddenly gain speed as it neared him, he reached out one hand and grabbed its tip. Until then, he had not been certain that the tentacle was not poisonous, like a jellyfish’s. However, the fish that had been seized had fought vigorously with no indication of being envenomed.
The tentacle doubled up on itself, looped, and went around him. He released the tip, turned, and grabbed the tentacle about twelve inches back from its tip. He began to saw at the skin with the knife, which went through fairly easy. The tentacle abandoned its efforts to wrap itself around him and began to pull back. He kept hold with one hand and continued to cut. The water became darker as he was carried back under the edge. Then, the knife was through, and he was swimming back up with the severed part in his teeth.
He heaved the tentacle up on shore and was beginning to pull himself out when he felt something enfold his right foot. He looked down at a mouth on the end of another tentacle. The mouth was toothless but strong enough to keep its grip on his foot. He clung with his arms on the edge and gasped, “Help me!”
Theotormon took a few steps towards him on his rubbery legs and then halted. Vala looked down at the thing and smiled. Luvah snatched the broken sword from her scabbard and went into the water. At that, Vala laughed, and she followed Luvah in. She came back up, took Wolff’s dagger, and dived back down. She and Luvah went to work on the tentacle a few feet from the mouth. The shaft parted; Wolff pulled himself on out with the amputated mouth-part still ensocked on his foot.
The two pieces of flesh could be eaten only after being pounded against the treetrunk to tenderize them. Even then, eating them was almost like chewing on rubber. But it was more food in the stomach.
Afterwards, they advanced gingerly over the plain. At the point by the first butte, where the hairs began to cluster thickly, they halted. Now they could see their goal. A half mile away, on top of a tall butte, was the pair of golden hexagons.
Wolff had picked up the branch that Vala’s fall had broken off. He threw this hard as he could and watched it come down in the hairs. The whole area reacted at once and far more violently than the less haired area. The skin stormed.
“Oh, Los!” Ariston said. “We’re done for! We could never get across that.” He shook his fist at the sky and shouted, “You, our father! I hate you! I loathe you, and abominate the day that you jetted me from your foul loins! You may think you have us where you want us! But, by Los and crooked Enitharmon, I swear that we’ll get to you yet!”
“That’s the spirit,” Wolff said. “For a moment, I thought you were going to whine like a sick dog. Tell the old bastard off! He can probably hear you.”
Ariston, breathing hard, fists still clenched, said, “Brave enough talk. But I still would like to know what to do.”
Wolff said to the others, “Any ideas?”
They shook their heads. He said, “Where is all the diabolical cleverness and weasel agility of mind that the children of Urizen are supposed to have? I’ve heard tales of each one of you, of how you have assailed the stronghold of many a Lord and by your wits and powers have taken his universe from him. What is the matter now?”
Vala said, “They were brave enough and clever enough when they had their weapons. But I think they’re still recovering from the shock of being taken so easily by our father. And of being deprived of their devices. Without those, they lose that which made them Lords. Now, they’re only men, and pretty sorry men at that.”
Rintrah said, “My muscles ache and burn. They sag as if I were on a heavy planet.”
“Muscles!” Wolff said. “Muscles!”
He led them back to the tree. Despite the flame in his back every time he pulled on a branch—agony from the talonwounds—he worked with a will. The other Lords helped him, and each soon had a bundle of branches in his arms. They returned to the rim of the overgrown area and here began to cast the sticks as far out into the feelers as they could. They did not do it all at once but spaced their throws. The skin reared up like a sea in a hurricane. Waves, craters, wavelets coursed back and forth.
But as the skin continued to be activated, its ragings became less. Near the end of the supply of branches, it began to react feebly. The last stick got no more than a shallow hole and a weak and quickly subsiding wave.
Wolff said, “It’s tired now. Its rate of recovery may be very swift, however. So I suggest we get going now.”
He led the way, walking swiftly. The skin quivered and humped up in response to the warnings from the feelers and broad three-or-four-inch deep holes appeared. Wolff skirted them, then decided he should trot. He did not stop until he had reached the foot of the butte. This, like the first they had passed, seemed to be an excrescence, a huge wart on the skin. Though its sides rose perpendicularly, it was wrinkled enough to give hand and footholds. The ascent was not easy, but they all got to the top without mishap.
Wolff said, “Yours is the honor again, Vala. Which gate?”
Ariston said, “She hasn’t done very well so far. Why let her pick it?”
Vala turned on him like a tigress. “Brother, if you think you can do any better, you choose! But you should show your confidence in yourself by being the first to go through the gate!” Ariston stepped back and said, “Very well. No use breaking with the custom.”
Vala said, “So it’s a custom now! Well, I choose the left one.”
Wolff did not hesitate. Although he felt that this time he might find himself, weak and weaponless, in Urizen’s fortress, he stepped through.
For a moment, he could not understand where he was or what was happening, he was so dizzy and the objects that hurtled above him were so strange.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
He was on a huge gray metallic cylinder that was rotating swiftly. Above him, on both sides, and also coming into view as the cylinder whirled, were other gray cylinders. The sky behind them was a pale pink.
Between each of the cylinders were three glowing beams of mauve light. These began about ten feet from the ends of the cylinders and from the middle. Every now and then, colored lights burst along the lengths of the beams and ran up and down them. Red, orange, black, white, purple, they burst like Very lights and then bobbed along the beams as if jerked along by an invisible cord. When they came to a point about twelve feet from the cylinders, they flared brightly and quick
ly died out.
Wolff closed his eyes to fight off the dizziness and the sickness. When he opened them again, he saw that the others had come through the gates. Ariston and Tharmas fell to the surface and clung as tightly as they could. Theotormon sat down as if he feared the spinning would send him scooting across the metal or perhaps might hurl him out into the space between the cylinders. Only Vala seemed not to be affected. She was smiling, although it could have been a mere show of courage.
If so, she was to be admired for achieving even this.
Wolff studied the environment as best he could. The cylinders were all about the size of the Empire State Building.
Wolff did not understand why they were not all spun off immediately by centrifugal force. Surely, these bodies could not have much gravity.
Yet, they did.
Perhaps—no perhaps—Urizen had set up a balance of forces which enabled objects with such strong gravities to keep from falling on each other. Perhaps the colored lights that ran along the beams were manifestations of the continual rebalancing of whatever statics and dynamics were being used to maintain the small but Earth-heavy bodies.
Wolff did not know anything except that the science that the Lords had inherited was far beyond that which Terrestrials knew.
There must be thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands, of these cylinders. They were about a mile apart from each other, spinning on their own axes and also shifting slowly about each other in an intricate dance.
From a distance, Wolff thought, the separate bodies would look like one solid bulk. This must be one of the planets he had observed from the waterworld.
The World of Tiers Volume One: The Maker of Universes, the Gates of Creation, and a Private Cosmos Page 34
