Sheri Tepper - Grass

He stared at her for a long, cold moment, trying not to say what, eventually, he could not keep himself from saying. “No. I do not want to hear any of Sylvan’s fairy tales about the Hippae.”

She swallowed painfully, trying not to let the frustration show on her face. “Are you interested in hearing what Brother Mainoa of the Green Brothers may have to tell you about the same subject?”

He wanted more than anything else to hurt her enough that she would cry. He had seldom seen her cry.

“Brother Mainoa?” he sneered. “Are you having an affair with him, too?”

She stared at him in disbelief, noting his heightened color, his fiery eyes, like Stella’s eyes. He was saying the kinds of things Stella liked to say, wanting to hurt, not minding that he knew they were not true.

Before he had spoken, she had almost cried, out of weariness if for no other reason, but his words burned all that away. Flames came up around her, red and hot and crackling. It was an unfamiliar feeling, an anger so intense that there was no guilt in it at all. The words came out of her like projectiles, fired without thought, without needing to think.

“Brother Mainoa is about the age of my father,” she said in a clear, cold voice which she could scarcely hear over the flame noises in her head. “An old man, rather unsteady on his feet. He has been here for many, many years. He may have some clue which would be valuable to us in the task we were sent here to do. But do not trouble yourself about Brother Mainoa…”

“Perhaps when you have ridden to the Hunt and proven your manhood as you so constantly need to do — and if you return — perhaps then we can discuss what we are here for.”

He tried to interrupt her, but she held up her hand, forbidding him, her face like fiery ice. “In the meantime you may be assured that I have never had an ‘affair’ with anyone. Until now, Rigo, I had left the breaking of our vows to you.”

He had never heard her speak in that way. He had never known she could. Tonight he had wanted only to crush her self-control, believing it stood as a barrier between them. He had wanted their growing coldness to be burned away by anger so she would come to him, as she always did, apologizing, asking his forgiveness…

Instead he had provoked an anger he could neither calm nor encompass. She turned and went away from him and he saw her go as though she were leaving him forever.

It was not only at Opal Hill and at Klive that matters boiled and suppurated on that night of the lapse. Far from either place, in the kitchen court of Stane, the estancia of the bon Maukerden’s, a door opened upon the night to spill slanted light onto the court, throwing a sharp wedge of brilliance into which the Obermum Geraldria stepped to make a stump of shadow. She was a stocky pillar of a woman, her hair tumbled around her heaving shoulders as she wept hopelessly into the towel she held to her face. After a time she lifted reddened eyes to stand peering into the night, unable to see anything both because of the darkness and of the tears that filled her eyes and dripped unregarded from her heavy jaws. At the far end of the kitchen court was a gate opening on the path to Maukerden village. She walked heavily to the gate, opened it, then beckoned toward the open door.

Two figures emerged, so slowly as to seem reluctant. One was Geraldria’s serving maid, Clima. The other was the Goosegirl, Janetta bon Maukerden, swaying beneath a voluminous cloak as though to the sound of music she alone could hear, her face utterly tranquil in the yellow light. Clima wept, Geraldria wept, but the Goosegirl showed no sign that she saw or cared that either of the women grieved.

The Obermum held the gate open as Clima approached. “Take her to the village, Clima. As soon as you can, take her to Commoner Town. See if Doctor Bergrem… see if Lees Bergrem can help her. I should have let her go before. I thought she’d learn to recognize us.” Geraldria pressed the sodden towel to her face once more, muffling the sounds she could not seem to keep from making. When the spasm had passed, she fished in a pocket for the credit voucher she had put there earlier. “This will get you whatever you need. If you need more than this one, let me know. Tell Doctor Bergrem… tell the doctor to send her away from Grass if that will help.”

Clima pocketed the card. “The doctor could maybe come here, mistress. Maybe they’d come here.” She caught at the Goosegirl’s arm to keep her from dancing away, tugging her through the gate and onto the path.

“The doctor said she needed her machines, the things she has at the hospital. Besides, the Obermun won’t. Won’t have it. Won’t have her.”

“Not her fault…” Words muffled by tears.

Geraldria cried, “Dimoth says yes. He says it was Janetta’s fault. He says it wouldn’t have happened otherwise. Vince agrees with him.”

Clima spoke indignantly. “That’s not true! Not my Janetta.”

“Shhh. Take her.” Darkness fell onto the path as she shut the gate, peering over it at the two of them outside. “Take her away, Clima. I cannot bear it any longer. Not with the Obermun saying the things he says.” She fled toward the house, shutting the door behind her.

Clima took the girl by the hand and urged her down the path, the light of the torch making a puddle before them on a route as well known to Clima as the rooms in her own house. She had gone only far enough to be hidden from the house by the grasses when someone stepped out of them behind her and pulled a sack over her head and down her body, knocking her down in the process and leaving her to writhe helplessly for the moment, her hands frantically seeking the rope her assailant had knotted at her ankles. She had been too surprised to shout.

She wriggled herself upright and fumbled at the rope, wrenching at the knot with hasty fingers. She heard the sound of an aircar taking off from the grasses to one side of the path, where no aircar was supposed to be. The knot came loose at last and she stripped the sack off, turning her torch around her in bright searching spokes.

She called, went scrambling among the grasses, even brought back several men from the village to help her look, but the girl was gone.

Suddenly, the lapse was over. The Hunt began again. For Rigo, riding the simulacrum took every moment of his waking time. For Stella, though they did not know it, it continued to take every hour that the rest of them slept. Superbly conditioned by their previous horsemanship, both Rigo and Stella took less time than the bons might have expected. The day soon came that Rigo announced he would attend the Hunt at the bon Damfels estancia, two days hence.

“I expect you all to be there.” he said grimly to his family. “You, Marjorie. Tony. Stella.”

Marjorie did not reply. Tony nodded. Only Stella burbled with excitement. “Of course, Daddy. We wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

“I’ve ordered a balloon-car so that you can follow the Hunt.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” said Marjorie. “I’m sure we will all enjoy that very much.”

Stella cast a sidelong look, disturbed by her mother’s voice. The words, the phrasing — all had been as usual, and yet there had been something chill and uncaring in that voice. She shivered and looked away, deciding it would not be a good time to twit her mother about the Hunt. Besides, there was too much to do. Stella was determined to ride when her father rode, but obtaining the proper garb had not been easy. She had forged orders over the name of Hector Paine and sent them to Commons, intercepting the deliveries when they arrived. She now had everything she needed, the padded trousers, the special boots, narrowed at the toe to catch between the ribs of the mount. Her own coat and hunt tie would serve, her own gloves and hat. All of them were ready to be hidden in the aircar and transported to the bon Damfels estancia. This would be one of the last Hunts at Klive. Within a few days, the Hunt would move to the bon Laupmons’.