And later, perhaps, you shall see me even more clearly. Save for yourselves there is in this park of mine no living creature. Everything is illusion but myself. And am I not enough? Can you desire anything more of life or death than you gaze on now? The heaven-sweet murmur of that voice was speaking sheerest magic, and in the sound of it neither of them was capable of any emotion but worship of the loveliness they faced.
It beat out in waves like heat from that incarnate perfection, wrapping them about so that nothing in the universe had existence but Yvala. Before the glory that blazed in their faces Smith felt adoration pouring out of him as blood gushes from a severed artery. Like life-blood it poured, and like life-blood draining it left him queerly weaker and weaker, as if some essential part of him were gushing away in great floods of intensest worship.
Yvala Restirred [Norawest Smith][A Gender Switch Adventure] - Cathan L. Moore
But somewhere, down under the lowest depths of Smith's subconsciousness, a faint disquiet was stirring. He fought it, for it broke the mirror surfaces of his tranced adoration, but he could not subdue it, and by degrees that unease struggled up through layer upon layer of rapt enchantment until it burst through into his conscious mind and the little quiver of it ran disturbingly through the exquisite calm of his trance. He could not grasp it, but the elusive memory pricked at him with little pinpoint goads, crying danger so insistently that with infinite reluctance his mind took up the business of thinking once more.
Yvala sensed it. She sensed the lessening in that lifeblood gush of rapt adoration poured out upon her loveliness. Her fathomless eyes turned upon his in a blaze of transcendent blueness, and the woods reeled about him at the impact of their light. Rooted deep in that immovable solidity the little uneasy murmur persisted. Then Yvala turned. With both velvety arms she swept back the curtain of her hair, and all about her in a glory of tangible loveliness blazed out the radiance that dwelt in such terrible intensity here.
Smith's whole consciouness snuffed out before it like a blown candle-flame. Remotely, after eons, it seemed, awareness overtook him again. It was not consciousness, but a sort of dumb, blind knowledge of processes going on around him, in him, through him. So an animal might be aware, without any hint of real self-consciousness. But hot above everything else the tranced adoration of sheer beauty was blazing now in the center of his universe, and it was devouring him as a flame devours fuel, sucking out his worship, draining him utterly. Helpless, unbodied, he poured forth adoration into the ravenous blaze that held him, and as he poured it out he felt himself fading, somehow sinking below the level of a human being.
It was as if the insatiable appetite for admiration which consumed Yvala and was consuming him sucked him dry of all humanity. Even his thoughts were sinking now as she drained him, so that he no longer fitted words to his sensations, and his mind ran into figures and pictures below the level of human minds.
He was not tangible. He was a dark, inarticulate memory, bodiless, mindless, full of queer, hungry sensations.. He remembered running. He remembered the dark earth flowing backward under his flying feet, wind keen in his nostrils and rife with the odors of a thousand luscious things. He remembered the pack baying around him to the frosty stars, his own voice lifting in exultant, throat-filling clamor with the rest.
He remembered the sweetness of flesh yielding under fangs, the hot gush of blood over a hungry tongue. Little more than this he remembered. But gradually, in dim, disquieting echoes, another realization strengthened beyond the circle of hunger and feeding. He was little more than a recollection now, a mind that circled memories of hunting and killing and feeding which some lost body in long-ago distances had performed.
With no physical sense was he aware of them, for he possessed no physical senses at all. In memory he smelled the rank, blood-stirring scent of man, felt a tongue lolling out over suddenly dripping fangs; remembered hunger gushed up through his sensations.
Now he was blind and formless in a formless void, recognizing those presences only as they impinged upon his. But from the man-presences realization reached out and touched him, knowing his presence, realizing his nearness. They sensed him, lurking hungrily so close. And because they sensed him so vividly, their minds receiving the ravenous impact of his, their brains must have translated that hungry nearness into sight for just an instant; for from somewhere outside the gray void where he existed a voice said clearly, "Look! He knew too that the men, whoever they were, walked into just such danger as had conquered him, and the urgency to warn them surged up in his dumbness.
Not until then did he know clearly, with a man's word-thoughts, that he had no being. He had been a man. Shame flooded over him. He forgot the men, the speech they used, the remembered hunger.
- The Screenwriter’s Roadmap: 21 Ways to Jumpstart Your Story.
- Yvala | Concordances and Characters | FANDOM powered by Wikia.
- Not Safe to be Free (Murder Room);
- The Great Philosophers: Spinoza: Spinoza.
Through the dizziness of that a stronger urge began to beat. Somewhere in the void sounded a call that reached out to him irresistibly. It called him so strongly that his whole dim being whirled headlong in response along currents that swept him helpless into the presence of the summoner. A blaze was burning.
In the midst of the universal emptiness it flamed, calling, commanding, luring him so sweetly that with all his entity he replied, for there was in that burning an element that wrenched at his innermost, deepest-rooted desire.
He was sinking lower,, past the wolf level, down and down. Through the coming oblivion terror stabbed. It was a lightning-flash of realization from his long-lost humanity, one last throb that brightened the dark into which he sank. Before now he had floundered helplessly with no firmness anywhere to give him foothold to fight; but now, in his uttermost extremity, while the last dregs of conscious life drained out of him, the bed-rock lay bare from which the well-springs of his strength and savagery sprang, and at that last stronghold of the self called Smith he leaped into instant rebellion, fighting with all the wolf-nature that had been the soil from which his man-soul rooted.
Wolfishly he fought, with a beast's savagery and a man's strength, backed by the bed-rock firmness that was the base for both. Adams, Richard.
Moves | Large selection of the newest styles | rigenide.ga
Allen, Harper. Andrews, Ilona. Ash, Sarah. Axler, James. Adams, Robert. Allen, Justin. Anthony, Piers.
Ashby, Madeline. Addison, Katherine. Allen, Mike. Applegate, K. Ashton, Dyrk. Don't see who you're looking for? Please try the search box located under this menu. Bach, Rachel. Barry, Max.
Search This Blog
Bernstein, Nina. Borchardt, Alice. Brom, Gerald. Bacigalupi, Paolo.
Northwest Smith: Some of the sturdiest pillars of Golden Age science fiction
Barzak, Christopher. Bertin, Joanne. Borges, Jorge Luis. Brooks, Max. Badger, Hilary. Basile, Giambattisto.