Philip Farmer - The Gates of Creation

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, unattached 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.”

“We’re so tired,” 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 talon-wounds—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 was not impossible. They all got to the top without mishap.