Read Online Lord Tyger by Philip José Farmer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Philip José Farmer
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beasts were not going to heed him except as an obstacle to their flight.
He passed through the thick brush and under the branches of the vine-strangled trees. No more animals rushed out of the jungle. He smelled smoke and presently was crouched behind a bush near the bank of the river. The Bird of God had struck a dozen branches and broken them off and then had smashed into the soft mud. It burned not three yards from the water. The bushes near it blackened, and their leaves curled up. Some caught on fire, which would have made Ras very uneasy if this were the dry season. There was little chance that the bushes beyond would also catch fire.
The Bird certainly was not flesh and blood and feathers. It was made of unknown material and of iron. It would be too hot for a long time for him to investigate, so he decided to search for the yellow-haired person. She--he was thinking of the personas she because of what Yusufu had told him--must have fallen on the other side of the river. At this point, the river was two hundred yards wide. It was also so close to its origin in the lake that the waters would be too cold for the crocodiles. Besides, he doubted that any would have stayed in the neighborhood after the noise the Bird had made. A crocodile would have scooted on down the river like a fish, propelled by panic-shot excrement.
Ras walked down the sloping banks, noting in the mud the webbed imprints of a giant water shrew. The sun had not reached this side of the river yet, so the mud was cool as it squished between his toes. The water was cold when he dived into it; he swam on his side, kicking his feet and stroking with one hand while he held his spear, bow, and quiver up above the surface with his right hand.
On the other side, he walked straight westward but looked intently on both sides. The underbrush was not thick here because of the pale darkness cast down by the many vine-matted branches. A bush here seldom or almost never felt the kiss of the sun, lord of life; the growths that survived had to inch painfully and weakly up the trunks of the trees that were killing them until they reached the thin area, where the sun blessed. He could see about a hundred yards on either side of him, although the yellow-hair could be behind one of the huge trunks.
It would not be so easy for the great white bloom to be hidden.
He had gone several hundred yards from the river when he gave a low cry and leaped into the air. He slapped at his legs and feet to knock off the black ants biting into him. They were everywhere, merging with the shadows, swarming, intent ontheir drive toward an unknown goal. They formed a column that spread out between him and the interior. He retreated and then tried to walk parallel with the living blanket on the soil. He would get ahead of them and cut across them and try to come around the other side. But after he had covered a mile, he realized that the army might stretch for several more miles. Meantime, the yellow-haired angel must have been forced by the same ants to go westward.
"Angels have wings," his mother had said.
"Why doesn't the angel in the Bird's belly have wings?" Ras had said.
"Because angels often go down among men to find out what's going on or to deliver a message from Igziyabher. When they do that, they take off their wings and hang them on a hook."
"Yes, but the angel in the Bird's belly isn't pretending to be a man. Why doesn't he wear his wings?"
"How do you know he isn't? Have you been close enough to see if he has wings?"
What would an angel do when stranded on earth without wings? Would Igziyabher come after her Himself, or would He send some winged angels, or another bird, to lift her up and take her back to Heaven?
He prowled on, unwilling to give up and hoping to come to the head of the army. Another thing about angels occurred to him. Sometimes, his mother and father spoke of them as if they had no sex.
"They are as smooth between the legs as your forehead," Yusufu had
He passed through the thick brush and under the branches of the vine-strangled trees. No more animals rushed out of the jungle. He smelled smoke and presently was crouched behind a bush near the bank of the river. The Bird of God had struck a dozen branches and broken them off and then had smashed into the soft mud. It burned not three yards from the water. The bushes near it blackened, and their leaves curled up. Some caught on fire, which would have made Ras very uneasy if this were the dry season. There was little chance that the bushes beyond would also catch fire.
The Bird certainly was not flesh and blood and feathers. It was made of unknown material and of iron. It would be too hot for a long time for him to investigate, so he decided to search for the yellow-haired person. She--he was thinking of the personas she because of what Yusufu had told him--must have fallen on the other side of the river. At this point, the river was two hundred yards wide. It was also so close to its origin in the lake that the waters would be too cold for the crocodiles. Besides, he doubted that any would have stayed in the neighborhood after the noise the Bird had made. A crocodile would have scooted on down the river like a fish, propelled by panic-shot excrement.
Ras walked down the sloping banks, noting in the mud the webbed imprints of a giant water shrew. The sun had not reached this side of the river yet, so the mud was cool as it squished between his toes. The water was cold when he dived into it; he swam on his side, kicking his feet and stroking with one hand while he held his spear, bow, and quiver up above the surface with his right hand.
On the other side, he walked straight westward but looked intently on both sides. The underbrush was not thick here because of the pale darkness cast down by the many vine-matted branches. A bush here seldom or almost never felt the kiss of the sun, lord of life; the growths that survived had to inch painfully and weakly up the trunks of the trees that were killing them until they reached the thin area, where the sun blessed. He could see about a hundred yards on either side of him, although the yellow-hair could be behind one of the huge trunks.
It would not be so easy for the great white bloom to be hidden.
He had gone several hundred yards from the river when he gave a low cry and leaped into the air. He slapped at his legs and feet to knock off the black ants biting into him. They were everywhere, merging with the shadows, swarming, intent ontheir drive toward an unknown goal. They formed a column that spread out between him and the interior. He retreated and then tried to walk parallel with the living blanket on the soil. He would get ahead of them and cut across them and try to come around the other side. But after he had covered a mile, he realized that the army might stretch for several more miles. Meantime, the yellow-haired angel must have been forced by the same ants to go westward.
"Angels have wings," his mother had said.
"Why doesn't the angel in the Bird's belly have wings?" Ras had said.
"Because angels often go down among men to find out what's going on or to deliver a message from Igziyabher. When they do that, they take off their wings and hang them on a hook."
"Yes, but the angel in the Bird's belly isn't pretending to be a man. Why doesn't he wear his wings?"
"How do you know he isn't? Have you been close enough to see if he has wings?"
What would an angel do when stranded on earth without wings? Would Igziyabher come after her Himself, or would He send some winged angels, or another bird, to lift her up and take her back to Heaven?
He prowled on, unwilling to give up and hoping to come to the head of the army. Another thing about angels occurred to him. Sometimes, his mother and father spoke of them as if they had no sex.
"They are as smooth between the legs as your forehead," Yusufu had
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