I asked him what gods they worshipped in that city, and he said, "All
those gods whom Time has not yet slain." Then he turned from me and would
say no more, but busied himself in behaving in accordance with ancient
custom. And so, according to the will of Yann, we drifted onwards and left
Astahahn. The river widened below Astahahn, and we found in greater
quantities such birds as prey on fishes. And they were very wonderful in
their plumage, and they came not out of the jungle, but flew, with their
long necks stretched out before them, and their legs lying on the wind
behind, straight up the river over the mid-stream.
And now the evening began to gather in. A thick white mist had appeared
over the river, and was softly rising higher. It clutched at the trees
with long impalpable arms, it rose higher and higher, chilling the air;
and white shapes moved away into the jungle as though the ghosts of
shipwrecked mariners were searching stealthily in the darkness for the
spirits of evil that long ago had wrecked them on the Yann.
As the sun sank behind the field of orchids that grew on the matted summit
of the jungle, the river monsters came wallowing out of the slime in which
they had reclined during the heat of the day, and the great beasts of the
jungle came down to drink. The butterflies a while since were gone to
rest. In little narrow tributaries that we passed night seemed already to
have fallen, though the sun which had disappeared from us had not yet set.
And now the birds of the jungle came flying home far over us, with the
sunlight glistening pink upon their breasts, and lowered their pinions as
soon as they saw the Yann, and dropped into the trees. And the widgeon
began to go up the river in great companies, all whistling, and then would
suddenly wheel and all go down again. And there shot by us the small and
arrow-like teal; and we heard the manifold cries of flocks of geese, which
the sailors told me had recently come in from crossing over the Lispasian
ranges; every year they come by the same way, close by the peak of Mluna,
leaving it to the left, and the mountain eagles know the way they come
and--men say--the very hour, and every year they expect them by the same
way as soon as the snows have fallen upon the Northern Plains. But soon it
grew so dark that we heard those birds no more, and only heard the
whirring of their wings, and of countless others besides, until they all
settled down along the banks of the river, and it was the hour when the
birds of the night went forth. Then the sailors lit the lanterns for the
night, and huge moths appeared, flapping about the ship, and at moments
their gorgeous colours would be revealed by the lanterns, then they would
pass into the night again, where all was black. And again the sailors
prayed, and thereafter we supped and slept, and the helmsman took our
lives into his care.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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