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 en
emies 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.
Part Two
I. Third Extract from Bakhoun’s Book
The priests, the elders and the chiefs listened to my story, awestruck; their couriers went to report the good news to the remotest parts of the wilderness. The Great Council ordered the warriors to gather at the sixth moon of the year 22,649, on the plain of Mehour-Asar, and the prophets preached the holy war. More than 100,000 Zahelal warriors arrived, and a large number of combatants from foreign races—Dzoums, Sahrs and Khaldes, attracted by rumor—came to offer their services to the great nation.
Kzour was surrounded by a ten-deep ring of archers, but all the arrows failed by virtue of the Xipehuz tactic, and imprudent warriors perished in great numbers. Then, for several weeks, a great terror prevailed among humans…
On the third day of the eighth moon, armed with a sharp-pointed dagger, I announced to a vast crowd that I would go to fight the Xipehuz on my own, in the hope of overcoming the mistrust that had begun to arise concerning the truth of my story.
My sons Loum, Demja and Anakhre were violently opposed to my project, and wanted to take my place. “You cannot go,” said Loum, “for if you die, everyone will believe that the Xipehuz are invulnerable, and the human race will perish.” Demja, Anakhre and many chiefs having said the same thing, I found the reasoning compelling, and withdrew my offer. Then Loum, having taken possession of my horn-hilted knife, crossed the mortal frontier, and the Xipehuz came hurrying toward him. One of them, much swifter than the rest, was about to reach him, but Loum, subtler than a leopard, sidestepped, went around the Xipehuz, and then, with a mighty leap, pounced on it and thrust with the sharp point.
The motionless multitude saw the adversary collapse, contract and solidify. A hundred thousand voices rose up in the blue morning, and Loum was already returning, having crossed the frontier. His glorious name circulated through the armies.
II. The First Battle
At dawn on the seventh day of the eighth moon of the year 22,649, the horns sou
nded and heavy hammers struck the brazen bells for the great battle. A hundred black buffaloes and 200 stallions were immolated by the priests, and my 50 sons prayed with me to the One and Only.
As the solar globe was engulfed in the red dawn, the chiefs galloped to the front of their armies, and the clamor of the attack swelled with the impetuous rush of 100,000 combatants.
The Nazzum tribe was the first to engage the enemy, and the combat was formidable. Impotent at first, scythed down by mysterious blows, the warriors soon mastered the skill of striking the Xipehuz and killing them. Then all the nations—Zahelals, Dzoums, Sahrs, Khaldes, Xisoastres and Pjarvanns—roaring like the oceans, invaded the plain and the forest, surrounding the silent adversaries everywhere.
For a long time, the battle was total chaos; messengers continually came to tell the priests that men were dying in hundreds, but that their deaths were being avenged.
At the hottest hour of the day, my son Sourdar with the agile feet, dispatched by Loum, came to tell me that for every Xipehuz annihilated, a dozen of our men perished. My soul was dark and my heart beat feebly, but my lips murmured: “Let it be as the Only Father wishes!” And I remembered the head-count of the warriors, which had given the number of 140,000. Knowing that the Xipehuz numbered about 4000, I thought that more than a third of the vast army would perish, but that the Earth would belong to humankind. Now, the army might have been insufficient.
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