To Léon Hennique,3
His friend and admirer
J.-H. Rosny Aîné
Part One
I. The Forms
It was a thousand years before the aggregation of civilization from which Nineveh, Babylon and Ecbatana emerged. As evening approached, the nomadic Pjehou tribe was making its way through the wild Forest of Kzour in a sea of oblique sunlight. The setting Sun swelled up, hung in the air and sank into its harmonious bed.4
Because everyone was tired, they were silent, in quest of a beautiful clearing in which the tribe could light the sacred fire, make the evening meal and go to sleep, protected from wild animals by a double row of red fires.
The clouds became opaline, polychromatic countries wandering above the four horizons, nocturnal gods breathing a cradle song, and the tribe moved on. A scout returned at a gallop, with news of a clearing and a stream of pure spring water.
The tribe raised three long cheers; everyone pushed on more rapidly, childish laughter rippling. Even the horses and the donkeys, accustomed to the realization that a halt was imminent when the scouts returned and the nomads cried out, raised their heads proudly. The clearing appeared. The charming spring hollowed out its course between mosses and bushes; and a phantasmagoria was revealed to the nomads.
To begin with, there was a great circle of bluish translucent cones, points uppermost, each one about half the size of a man. A few bright streaks and dark circles were distributed over their surfaces; near the base, each one had a star, as dazzling as the mid-say sun. Further away, and equally eccentric, planes reminiscent of birch-bark, spotted with multicolored ellipses, were posed vertically. There were also quasi-cylindrical Forms here and there, similarly multicolored; some were thin and tall, others short and stout; all were bronze in color, dotted with green. Like the planes, all of them possessed the same characteristic points of light.
The tribe stared in amazement. A superstitious dread chilled the bravest, increasing further when the Forms began to undulate in the grey shadows of the clearing.
All of a sudden, their stars trembling and flickering, the cones became elongated, while the cylinders and the planes made a noise like the hiss of water thrown on a fire, and they all came toward the nomads, their velocity accelerating.
The entire tribe, bewitched by this prodigy, was rooted to the spot, continuing to stare. The Forms reached them. The impact was frightful. Groups of warriors, women and children collapsed on to the forest floor, mysteriously struck down as if by a bolt of lightning. Then dark terror lent strength, and the wings of agile flight, to the survivors—but the Forms, at first massed and organized in ranks, scattered with the tribe, clinging pitilessly to those in flight. The frightful attack was not infallible, however, killing some and stunning others but inflicting no wounds. A few red droplets sprang from the nostrils, eyes and ears of the dying, but the others, intact, soon got up again, resuming their fantastic flight through the wan twilight.
Whatever the nature of the Forms was, they acted like living beings, not like weather phenomena, having the inconsistency and diversity of movement of living beings, evidently choosing their victims, and not confusing the nomads with plants, or even with animals.
Soon, the fleetest runners perceived that they were no longer being pursued. Exhausted and anguished, they finally plucked up courage to go back toward the site of the prodigy. In the distance, between the tree-trunks bathed in shadow, the resplendent pursuit was continuing—and the Forms were preferentially running down and slaughtering the warriors, often disdaining the weak, women and children.
Seen thus, at a distance, now that darkness had fallen completely, the scene seemed even more supernatural and more overwhelming to their barbarian brains. The warriors were about to resume their flight when an important observation made them pause: it was that, whether they were chasing warriors, women or children, the Forms abandoned the pursuit beyond a fixed boundary. However tired or impotent the victim was, even if they fainted, as soon as that invisible frontier was crossed, all peril ceased.
This very reassuring observation, soon confirmed by 50 instances, calmed the frantic nerves of the runaways. They dared to wait for their wives and their poor children, escapees from the slaughter. One of them—their hero—initially stunned and scared by the superhuman nature of the incident, eventually recovered the spirit of his great soul, lit a fire and sounded a buffalo-horn to signal the fugitives.
Then, one by one, the wretches arrived. Many of them were lame, dragging themselves along with their hands. Mothers, with indomitable maternal instinct, were protecting, herding and carrying the fruit of their loins through the panic-stricken crowd. Many donkeys, horses and cows came back, less frightened than the humans.
They spent a dismal, sleepless night in silence, during which the warriors continually felt shivers down their spines—but first light came, palely insinuating itself through the dense foliage, and then the dawn fanfare of colors and singing birds: an exhortation to live and cast off the terrors of Darkness.
The Hero, the natural chief, assembled the crowd in groups and began a head-count of the tribe. Half the warriors, some 200, were missing, having probably been killed. The losses were much less among the women, and almost none among the children.
When the count was finished and the livestock had been assembled—few animals were missing, thanks to the superiority of instinct over reason during crises—the Hero disposed the tribe according to the customary arrangement; then, ordering them to wait, he headed for the clearing, pale and alone. No one dared follow him, even at a distance.
He went to a spot where the trees were widely spaced, a short distance within the limit identified the day before, and studied the scene. In the distance, in the cool transparency of the morning, the delightful spring was flowing. On the banks, reunited, the fantastic troop of Forms was resplendent. Their color had changed; the cones were more compact and their turquoise tint had become greener, the cylinders were tinted with violet, and the planes resembled virgin copper. Inside each of them, however, the star shed its radiance—which was dazzling, even in the daylight.
The metamorphosis extended to the shapes of the phantasmagorical Entities, the cones tending to broaden out into cylinders and the cylinders to spread out, while the planes had become slightly curved. As on the day before, though, the Forms suddenly began to undulate, their Stars flickering.
The Hero slowly went back across the frontier of safety.
II. A Hieratic Expedition
The tribe of Pjehou stopped outside the door of the great nomad Tabernacle, into which only chiefs entered. In the star-filled depths, three high priests stood beneath the male image of the Sun. Lower down, on the gilded steps, were 12 sacrificers of inferior rank.
The Hero went forward and gave a detailed account of the incident in the Forest of Kzour, to which the astonished priests listened very seriously, sensing a diminution of their power in confrontation with this extra-human adventure.
The supreme high priest demanded that the tribe offer a dozen bulls, seven onagers and three stallions to the Sun. He recognized the divine attributes of the Forms and decided to mount a hieratic expedition after the sacrifices. All the priests and all the chiefs of the Zahelal nation would take part in it.
Messengers were sent into the mountains and plains 100 leagues around the place where the Ecbatana of the mages would eventually be built.5 The sinister tale made people’s hair stand on end everywhere, and all the chiefs made haste to respond to the sacerdotal summons.
One autumn morning, the Male pierced the clouds and inundated the Tabernacle, reaching the altar where the bloody heart of a bull was smoking. The high priests, the immolators and fifty tribal chiefs uttered a triumphant cry. Outside, 100,000 nomads assembled in the fresh dew, echoed the clamor, turning their tanned heads toward the prodigious Forest of Kzour and shivering slightly. The omen was favorable.
Then, with the priests at their head, an entire people marched through the woods. About three hours into the afternoon, the Hero of the Pjehou called the multitude to a halt. The large clearing had been turned russet by the autumn; a flood of dead leaves extended majestically, covering its moss. On the banks of the stream, the priests perceived that which they had come to adore and appease: the Forms. They were gentle on the eyes in the shade of the trees, with their tremulous hues, the pure fire of their stars, and their tranquil circulation on the edge of the spring.
“It is necessary,” said the supreme high priest, “to offer the sacrifice here, so that they will know that we are submissive to their power!”
All the old men bowed. One voice was raised, however; it was that of Yushik, of the Nim tribe—a young counter of stars; a pale prophetic watcher of nascent renown—who audaciously requested permission to approach the Forms more closely. The old men, whose hair had turned white in the exercise of wise words, prevailed, however; the altar was constructed and the victim led forth: a superb stallion, a fine servant of humankind. Then, in the silence, while the people prostrated themselves, the bronze knife found the animal’s noble heart.
A great moan rose up, and the high priest said: “Are you appeased, O Gods!”
In the distance, among the silent tree-trunks, the Forms were still circulating, polishing themselves, preferring the locations where the sunlight streamed more densely.
“Yes! Yes!” the enthusiast cried. “They are appeased!” Seizing the warm heart of the stallion before the curious high priest could utter another word, Yushik launched himself into the clearing. Howling fanatics followed him. Slowly, the undulating Forms drew together, skimming the ground. Then they suddenly precipitated themselves upon the temeritous invaders, and a lamentable massacre terrified the 50 tribes.
Six or seven fugitives, hotly pursued, were able to reach the boundary by a great effort. The rest, including Yushik, were dead.
“They are merciless gods!” said the supreme high priest, solemnly.
They decided to erect a circle of stakes outside the line of safety. In order to determine the extent of that ring, they decided to force slaves to expose themselves successively to the attack of the Forms, around the entire perimeter. This was done. Under threat of death, slaves went into the circle. Very few, however, perished there, thanks to the excellence of the precautions. The frontier was firmly established, rendered visible to everyone by its perimeter of stakes.
Thus, the hieratic expedition was successfully concluded, and the Zahelals believed themselves to be protected against the subtle enemy.
III. Darkness
The preventive measures taken by the council were, however, soon shown to be impotent. The following spring, the Hertoth and Nazzum tribes, passing close to the circle of stakes without any suspicion of danger, in slight disarray, were cruelly assaulted by the Forms and decimated. The chiefs who escaped the massacre told the great Council of Zahelal that the Forms were now much more numerous than they had been the previous autumn. As before, they were limiting their pursuit, but the boundary had been extended.
This news disturbed the people; there was much mourning and many sacrifices. Then the Council decided to destroy the Forest of Kzour by fire. In spite of their best efforts, they only succeeded in setting fire to its fringes. Then the priests, in despair, declared the forest sacred, forbidding anyone to go into it.
Two summers went by.
One October night, the encampment of the Zulf tribe, two bowshots from the fatal forest, was invaded by the Forms while the tribesmen were asleep. Another 300 warriors lost their lives.
After that day, a sinister and mysterious story, corrosive of belief, went from tribe to tribe, whispered in the evenings of the vast starry nights of Mesopotamia. Humankind was going to die. The others, still broadening out with every passing day, in the forests and over the plains, indestructibly, would devour the doomed race—and that black and dreadful conviction haunted their poor minds, sapping all the fighting strength and superb optimism typical of young races. The human wanderer, thinking about that, no longer dared to love the sumptuous native pastures, and sought on high with his weary eye for the constellations to halt their progress. It was the Millennium of the infant populations, the knell of the end of the world—or, perhaps the resignation of the red man of the Indian savannah.
And in that anguish, primitive meditators developed a bitter religion: a cult of death preached by pale prophets, a cult of Darkness, more powerful than the Stars; a Darkness that would engulf and devour the holy Light, the resplendent fire.6 Everywhere, in the fringes of the wilderness, one encountered the immobile, emaciated figures of the inspired, silent men who periodically spread out through the tribes, relating their frightful dreams of the approaching Dusk of the great Night, and the death-throes of the Sun.
IV. Bakhoun
Now, at that time, there lived an extraordinary man named Bakhoun, a member of the Ptuh tribe and a brother of the foremost high priest of the Zahelals. In his youth he had abandoned the nomadic life, choosing to settle in a beautiful wilderness in a narrow and lush valley between four hills, through which ran the musical clarity of a spring. He had fashioned a fixed tent from slabs of rock, forming a cyclopean dwelling. Patience, regular harvests and the careful husbandry of cattle and horses had made him wealthy. With his four wives and 30 children, he lived an Edenic life there.
Bakhoun professed singular beliefs, which might have got him stoned to death without the respect in which his elder brother, the supreme high priest, was held by the Zahelals. Firstly, he believed that the sedentary life, in a fixed abode, was preferable to nomadic life, conserving a man’s strength to the advantage of his mind. Secondly, he believed that the Sun, the Moon and the Stars were not gods, but luminous objects. Thirdly, he said that men should only believe firmly in things proven by Measurement. The Zahelals credited him with magic powers, and the boldest among them sometimes took the risk of consulting him. They were never sorry that they had done so. It was claimed that he had often aided unfortunate tribes by distributing food to them.
Now, in the dark hour when the melancholy alternatives presented themselves of abandoning the fecund regions or being destroyed by the inexorable divinities, the tribes thought of Bakhoun, and the priests themselves, after struggling with their pride, sent three of the most important members of their order to him as a deputation.
Bakhoun gave the most anxious attention to their story, making them repeat it, and asking numerous and precise questions. He asked for two days to meditate. When that time had elapsed, he simply announced that he was going to devote himself to the study of the Forms. The tribes were a little disappointed, for it had been hoped that Bakhoun would be able to save the land by magic. Nevertheless, the chiefs expressed their satisfaction with his decision, hoping for great things.
Then Bakhoun established himself in the borders of the Forest of Kzour, withdrawing when it was time to sleep, and made observations all day long, mounted on the swiftest stallion in Chaldea. Soon, convinced of the superiority of the splendid animal to the most agile of the Forms, he was able to begin his bold and scrupulous investigation of the enemies of Humankind—the study to which we owe a great cuneiform book consisting of 60 large tablets, the most beautiful lapidary book that the nomadic ages have left to the modern races.
It is in this book, admirable for its patient observation and sobriety, that evidence is found of a system of life absolutely dissimilar to our animal and vegetable kingdoms: a system that Bakhoun humbly confesses to being unable to analyze, save for its grossest and most external appearance. It is impossible for Humankind not to shiver on reading this monograph on the beings that Bakhoun calls the Xipehuz, and the objective details—never extended to marvelous systematization—that the ancient scribe reveals in relation to their actions, their modes of locomotion, combat and reproduction, which demonstrate that the human race has been on the edge of extinction, and that the Earth almost became the inheritance of a Sovereignty of which we have lost even the concept.
It is necessary to read the marvelous translation by Monsieur Dessault, the fruit of his unexpected discoveries in pre-Assyrian linguistics—discoveries unfortunately more admired abroad, in England and Germany than in his own fatherland. The illustrious savant has deigned to put at our disposition the salient passages of the precious work, and these passages, which we offer hereafter to the public, will perhaps inspire a desire to read the Master’s superb translations.7
V. Extract from Bakhoun’s Book
The Xipehuz are evidently Living Beings. All their movements reveal the free will, capriciousness, co-operation and partial independence that serve to distinguish animals from plants or inert objects. Although their mode of locomotion cannot be defined by comparison—they simply glide over the ground—it is easy to see that they control it as they desire. They can be seen to stop abruptly, turn around, launch themselves in pursuit of one another, move around in twos and threes, and manifest preferences that cause them to quit one companion in order to draw away and join another. They do not have the ability to climb trees, but they succeed in killing birds by attracting them, by undiscoverable means. They can often be seen to surround forest animals or to lie in wait for them behind bushes; they never fail to kill them and then consume them. One may posit as a rule that they kill all animals, without distinction, if they can reach them, and without any apparent motive—for they do not eat them, but simply reduce them to ashes.
Their manner of consumption does not require fire; the incandescent point that each one has at its base is sufficient for that operation. Ten or 12 of them gather in a circle around large animals they have killed and converge their radiance upon the carcass. For small animals—birds, for example—the radiance of a single Xipehuz suffices for the incineration. It should be noted that the heat that they are able to produce is not instantaneously violent; I have often intercepted the radiation of a Xipehuz with my hand, and the skin only begins to get hot after some time.
I do not know whether it can be said that the Xipehuz have different species, for they can transform themselves successively into cones, cylinders and planes, and can do so within a single day. Their color varies continually, which I think it necessary to attribute, in general, to the metamorphoses of light from morning to evening and from evening to morning. Some variations of shade, however, seem to be due to individual whims, especially to their passions, if I might use that term, and thus constitute veritable expressions of physiognomy—even the most simple of which I am quite unable, in spite of ardent study, to determine other than hypothetically. Thus, for instance, I have been unable to distinguish an angry hue from a tender one, which would surely have been the most elementary discovery of that sort.
I have used the word passions. Previously, I had already mentioned their preferences, which I shall call their friendships. They also have their hatreds. One Xipehuz constantly keeps its distance from another, and vice versa. Their fits of anger seem violent. I have seen them colliding, with movements identical to those observed when they attack large animals or human beings, and it was those same combats that taught me that they are not immortal, as I was initially disposed to believe, for on two or three occasions I have seen Xipehuz die in these encounters—which is to say, to fall, condense and solidify. I have carefully preserved some of these bizarre cadavers,8 and perhaps they will be able, at a later date, to assist in the revelation of the nature of the Xipehuz. They are yellowish crystals, irregularly shaped, streaked with blue lines.
From the fact that the Xipehuz are not immortal, I have deduced that it must be possible to fight them and defeat them, and since then I have begun a series of experiments in warfare, of which more will be said in due course.
As the Xipehuz are always sufficiently radiant to be seen through thickets, and even behind thick tree-trunks—a broad aura emanates from them in every direction, giving warning of their approach—I have often been able to venture into the forest itself, confiding myself to the speed of my stallion at the slightest alert. There I have attempted to discover whether they have constructed shelters, but I admit to being frustrated in that research. They do not move objects or plants, and appear to be strangers to any kind of tangible and visible industry—the only industry appreciable to human observation. Consequently, they have no weapons, in the sense in which we use the term. It is certain that they cannot kill at a distance; every animal that has been able to run away without being subjected to the immediate contact of a Xipehuz has escaped, without exception—I have witnessed that on many occasions.
As the members of the unfortunate Pjehou tribe have already noticed, they cannot cross certain invisible barriers in pursuit of their victims, but these limits have always increased from year to year and month to month. I was obliged to attempt to discover the cause of this.
Now, this cause seems to be nothing but a phenomenon of collective increase, and, like the majority of Xipehuz phenomena, it is inaccessible to human intelligence. In brief, this is the general principle: the limits of Xipehuz action are enlarged in proportion to the number of individuals—which is to say that, as soon as there is a procreation of new creatures, there is also an extension of the frontiers; but while the number remains invariable, every individual is utterly incapable of escaping the habitat attributed (by the nature of things?) to the whole race. That rule was suggestive of a more intimate correlation between the group and the individual than the similar correlations observed in humans and animals. The reciprocity of that law has been subsequently observed, for as soon as the Xipehuz began to diminish in number, their frontiers were proportionately restricted.
In relation to the phenomenon of procreation itself, I have little to say, but the modicum is significant. Firstly, procreation occurs four times a year, shortly before the equinoxes and solstices. The Xipehuz gather together in groups of three, and these groups gradually end up forming a single close-knit amalgam, disposed in a very long ellipse. They remain in this state all night, and throughout the morning, until the Sun reaches its zenith. When they separate, vague forms are seen to rise up in the air, enormous and vaporous. The Forms slowly condense and contract, transforming themselves at the end of ten days into amber-tinted cones, still considerably larger than adult Xipehuz. It requires two months and several days for them to attain their maximum development—which is to say, their maximum contraction. At the end of this time, they become similar to other beings of their kind, their colors and forms variable according to the time, the weather and individual caprice. A few days after their development, or contraction, is complete, the frontiers of action are extended. That was, naturally, shortly before the redoubtable moment when I pressed the flanks of my worthy Kouath in order to establish my camp further away.
Whether or not the Xipehuz have senses like ours it is impossible to determine. They certainly have apparatus that serve the same purpose. The ease with which they perceive the presence of animals—especially humans—over long distances evidently shows that their organs of investigation are at least as good as our eyes. I have never seen them confuse a vegetable and an animal, even in circumstances where I might very well have made such an error, deceived by the sub-branchial light, the color of the object and its position. The fact that it takes twenty to consume a large animal, when one alone can attend to the incineration of a bird, proves that they have an accurate understanding of proportions, and that understanding seems even more accurate when one observes that they sometimes employ ten, twelve or fifteen, always according to the relative size of the carcass. A better argument still in favor of both the existence of organs analogous to our senses and their intelligence is the manner in which they behave in attacking our tribes, for they rarely attach themselves to women or children, while they hunt down warriors pitilessly.
Now, the most important question: do they have a language? I can answer that without the slightest hesitation: Yes, they do have a language—and that language is composed of signs, some few of which I have been able to decipher.
Let us suppose, for example, that one Xipehuz wants to talk to another. To do that, it is sufficient to direct the radiance of its star toward its companion, which is always perceived immediately. The summoned individual stops, if it is moving, and waits. The speaker then rapidly traces a series of small luminous characters on the actual surface of its interlocutor—it does not matter where—by means of a modification of the radiation emanating from its base. These characters remain fixed for a moment, then fade away. After a short pause, the interlocutor replies.
Prior to any kind of combat or ambush, I have always seen the Xipehuz employ the following characters:
)—(—
When they were talking about me—and they often were, for they were determined to exterminate my brave Kouath and myself, the signs:
□—ν›
were invariably exchanged—among others, like the word or phrase:
)—(—
given above. The ordinary sign of appeal is:
_∏_
and it causes the individual receiving it to approach. When all the Xipehux are invited to a general meeting I have never failed to observe a signal in this form:
ΛI
representing the triple appearance of these beings.
The Xipehuz also have more complicated signs, not corresponding to actions similar to ours but to an utterly extra-human order of things, none of which I have been able to decipher. There is not the slightest doubt about their ability to exchange ideas of an abstract nature, probably equivalent to human ideas, for they can remain motionless for long periods doing nothing but conversing, which testifies to veritable accumulations of thought.
My long sojourn in their company ended up, in spite of their metamorphoses—whose sequences differ for each one, no doubt slightly, but with characteristics sufficient for a stubborn observer—allowing me to get to know several Xipehuz in a rather intimate fashion, by revealing particulars of their individual differences…dare I say personalities? I identified taciturn ones that almost never said a word; expansive ones that inscribed veritable speeches; attentive ones; and chatterboxes that spoke at the same time, interrupting one another. There were some who liked to withdraw and live alone and some that evidently sought society; there were ferocious ones that were perpetually hunting wild beasts and, by contrast, merciful ones that often spared animals, letting them live in peace. Does all that not open an enormous highway to the imagination? Does it not lead to the supposition of variations in aptitude, intelligence and strength analogous to those of the human race?
They practice education. How many times have I observed an old Xipehuz sitting in the midst of three young ones, radiating signs to them, which they then repeated one after another, and which they began again when the repetition was imperfect! These lessons were quite marvelous to my eyes, and nothing, out of all that concerns the Xipehuz, has preoccupied my sleepless evenings more. It seems to me that it was there, in that primary education of the species, that the veil of mystery might be partly lifted, that some simple and primitive idea might perhaps emerge to clarify a sector of that profound darkness for me. No, nothing put me off; I watched that educative process for years, attempting innumerable interpretations. How many times have I thought I grasped therein, like a fugitive gleam, the essential nature of the Xipehuz: an extra-sensory light, a pure abstraction—which, alas my poor flesh-embedded faculties never succeeded in following!
I have said previously that I thought for a long time that the Xipehuz were immortal. That belief having been destroyed by the sight of the violent deaths occurring in consequence of collisions between the Xipehuz, I was naturally led to seek their vulnerable point and to apply myself every day thereafter to find means of destroying them—for the Xipehuz were increasing in number to such an extent that, having overflowed the Forest of Kzour to the south, the north and the west, they were beginning to intrude on the plains on the eastern side. Within a few years, they would have dispossessed humans of their earthly abode.
To begin with, therefore, I armed myself with a sling, and as soon as a Xipehuz emerged from the forest within range, I aimed at it and launched my stone. I did not obtain any result by this means, although I hit the individuals I aimed at on every part of their surface, even the luminous points. They appeared to be quite oblivious to my attempts and none of them ever move sideways to avoid one of my projectiles. After a month of trying, it was necessary to admit that slingshots could do nothing against them, and I abandoned that weapon.
I took up the bow. As soon as I shot my first arrows I discovered a keen sense of dread among the Xipehuz, for they turned away, keeping out of range, avoiding me as much as possible. For a week, I tried in vain to hit one. On the eighth day, a party of Xipehuz—carried away, I suspect, by its zeal for the hunt—passed close to me while chasing a beautiful gazelle. I launched a few hasty arrows, without any apparent effect, and the party dispersed, with me in pursuit, using up my ammunition. I had no sooner fired the last arrow when they all came back at great speed from different directions, blocking me in on three sides—and I would have lost my life there and then had it not been for the prodigious speed of the valiant Kouath.
That adventure left me full of uncertainty and hope; I spent an entire week inert, lost in the vague depths of my mediation, in an excessively exciting and subtle question, worthy to dispel sleep, and which filled me with pain and pleasure at the same time. Why were the Xipehuz afraid of my arrows? Why, on the other hand, out of the large number of projectiles with which I had hit those in the hunt, had none had any effect? What I knew of the intelligence of my enemies did not permit the hypothesis of a terror without cause. On the contrary, everything led me to suppose that an arrow, fired in particular conditions, must be a redoubtable weapon for use against them. But what were those conditions? What was the vulnerable point of the Xipehuz?
Suddenly, the thought occurred to me that it was the star that it was necessary to hit. Momentarily, I was certain of it—blindly and passionately certain. Then I was seized by doubt. Had I not aimed at that target several times with the slingshot, and hit the target? Why should an arrow be more fortunate than a stone?
Night had fallen: the incommensurable abyss with its marvelous lamps, spread over the Earth. With my head in my hands, I was dreaming, my heart darker than the night.
A lion started roaring; jackals passed by on the plain—and the little light of hope ignited again. It occurred to me that a stone and a sling are relatively large, while the Xipehuz star was so small! Perhaps, in order to have an effect, it was necessary to pierce it with a sharp point and plunge to a profound depth within it. That way, their terror of arrows could be explained!
Vega was turning slowly round the pole though, dawn was approaching, and weariness had been putting the world of thought within my skull to sleep for some time.
In the following days, armed with the bow, I was constantly in pursuit of Xipehuz, going as far into their circle as wisdom permitted. They all avoided my attacks, though, keeping their distance, out of range. There was no question of lying in ambush; their mode of perception permitted them to observe my presence through obstacles.
Toward the end of the fifth day, an event occurred that, on its own, proved that the Xipehuz were creatures both as fallible and as perfectible as humans. That evening, at dusk, a Xipehuz deliberately approached me, with the constantly accelerating speed that they adopt for attacking purposes. Surprised, with my heart racing, I flexed my bow. Still advancing, like a turquoise column in the gathering gloom, it came almost within range. Then, to my amazement, as I got ready to fire my arrow, I saw it turn around and hide its star, without ceasing to move toward me. I only just had time to urge Kouath to a gallop and get out of the reach of that redoubtable adversary.
Now, that simple maneuver, of which no Xipehuz had thought before, in addition to demonstrating once again the individuality and personal inventiveness of the enemy, suggested two things: firstly, that I had chanced to reason correctly in relation to the vulnerability of the Xipehuz star; and secondly, less encouragingly, that the same tactic, if it were adopted by all of them, would render my task extremely difficult, and perhaps impossible. However, after having done so much to arrive at the truth, I felt my courage growing in confrontation with the obstacle, and dared to hope that my mind had the subtlety necessary to turn the tables.9
VI. Second Extract from Bakhoun’s Book
I returned to my solitude. Anakhre, the third son of my wife Tepai, was a skilled maker of weapons. I commissioned him to construct a bow of extraordinary range. He took a branch from a Waham tree, as hard as iron, and the bow he made from it was four times as powerful as the one used by the shepherd Zankann, the best archer in the thousand tribes. No living man could have drawn it, but I had thought of a trick and once Anakhre had put my plan into action, he found that the immense bow could be flexed and released by a sickly woman.
Now, I had always been expert in launching darts and arrows, and within a few days I had learned to use the weapon my son Anakhre had built so perfectly that I never missed any target, be it as small as a fly or as swift as a falcon.
Having done all that, I went back to Kzour, mounted on Kouath with the eyes of flame, and resumed prowling around the domain of the enemies of humankind. To inspire confidence in them, I fired numerous arrows with my usual bow every time one of their parties approached the frontier, and the arrows fell harmlessly short. In this way, they learned the exact range of the weapon, and consequently thought themselves utterly out of danger beyond a certain distance. A suspicion remained, however, which made them skittish and capricious when they were not in the cover of the forest, and led them to hide their stars from my view.
By virtue of patience, I wore down their anxiety, and on the sixth morning, a troop came to take up position in front of me, beneath a large chestnut tree, at three times the range of ordinary bows. As soon as I saw them there I released a host of futile arrows. Their vigilance relaxed progressively then, and their movements became as free as in the early days of my sojourn.
It was the decisive moment. My heart was beating so strongly that I felt impotent at first, and I paused, for the redoubtable future depended on one single arrow. If that one failed to strike the intended target, the Xipehuz might never again lend themselves to my experimentation—and how would I know, then, whether they were accessible to human aggression?
By degrees, however, will-power triumphed, quieted my heart, made my limbs supple and strong and my eye calm. Then, slowly, I raised Anakhre’s bow. Out there in the distance a tall emerald cone was standing motionless in the shade of the tree; its bright star was turned toward me. The enormous bow flexed; the speedy arrow leapt into the air, whistling…and the Xipehuz, struck, fell, contracted and solidified.
A loud cry of triumph sprang from my breast. Extending my arms in ecstasy, I thanked the Unique.
The frightful Xipehuz were, therefore, vulnerable to human weapons! There was, therefore, hope that they might be destroyed!
Now, without fear, I allowed my heart to hammer away; I let it beat out the music of delight—me, who had feared so desperately for the future of my race, who beneath the course of the constellations and the crystal blue of the abyss, had calculated somberly that within two centuries, the vast world would have seen all its limits burst by the Xipehuz invasion.
And yet, when the superb, beloved, pensive Night came again, a shadow fell over my bliss: grief for the fact that humankind and the Xipehuz could not co-exist, that the life of the one would depend on the brutal condition of the annihilation of the other.