Sheri Tepper - Grass

Sylvan could. Over the drumming of the hooves he heard the wild screaming from the ridge. He spun half around on the broad back, holding tight to one of the vast panniers Irish Lass carried. A dozen enormous beasts pranced upon the height. Around their feet a great pack of hounds leapt and yammered. As though in response to some signal that Sylvan had not seen, the whole Hunt of them plunged down the slope after the fleeing horses. Not silently, as when they hunted foxen, but clamoring as with one shrill ear-shattering voice.

He turned. The other horses were ahead of him, far ahead of him. This great beast was not as fleet as the others. He lay forward on her neck and whispered to her. “Do the best you can, my lady. I think otherwise, both you and I will be meat for them.” He turned to watch the pursuit. One huge violet-mottled Hippae led the charge, mouth wide, nostrils flared. It seemed to stumble in the grass, then again. It fell, eyes rolled back. A ripple in the grass fled to one side.

Behind the fallen monster the others slowed, prancing uncertainly. “Go,” called Sylvan to his mount. “Go, lady. As best you can.”

Irish Lass heard him and went. The distance between her and the other horses had grown. She did her best to decrease it, but it became wider yet.

Again the Hippae howled pursuit. Again the foremost among them tripped and fell. Again a ripple in the grass fled away, out of their path.

El Dia Octavo had reached the forest. Don Quixote was just behind him Millefiori was next Then Blue Star and Her Majesty. The riders had dismounted and were waiting for Sylvan.

Beside Sylvan a hound ran even with Irish Lass, its head darting through the grasses, teeth bared to strike at the running legs of the horse. Beyond the hound the grass quivered and something made of shining barbs snatched the hound away. Sylvan had not seen what it was, but he heard the hound screaming. Seemingly, so did the rest of the pack. The sound of their howling fell farther behind him. The great horse grunted beneath him. Her hide was wet and sleek. Foam flew from her mouth. “Good Lass,” he whispered. “Good Lass.”

And then, at last, he was there among the others. He turned once more to see the grass behind him alive with ripples. Something was moving there. Something the Hippae-hound pack was aware of, for it stood away, circling, screaming defiance but coming no nearer.

Irish Lass stood with her head dragging.

“Ah, Lass, Lass,” Marjorie was saying. “Poor girl. You’re not built for it, are you Lass, but so brave! Such a wonderful girl.” She led the mare in a tight circle as she talked. Gradually, Lass’s head came up.

“Where now?” asked Tony. “We don’t dare ride in there.” He gestured toward the trees, where water glimmered among the dark foliage.

“Yes,” said Brother Mainoa. “In there. Following me.”

“Have you been in there before?”

“No.”

“Well, then…”

“I haven’t been out in the grasses on a horse before either. But we are here. The immediate threat is past. We were guided. Protected.”

“By?”

“I won’t tell you until your knowing can’t endanger us. Those things" — he thrust a hand in the direction of the Hippae — “can read your thoughts. We have to get into the forest. The barrier between us and them is more pretense than real. If we stay here too long, the Hippae may realize that.”

Tony looked at his mother, as though for permission. Father James was already mounting once more. With a sigh, Brother Mainoa heaved himself up, struggling to get his leg across the horse. Brother Lourai helped him. Sylvan was still atop Irish Lass.

“Go,” Marjorie said.

Blue Star moved into the shallow water, picking her way among towering trunks and through thickets of reedlike growths. The others followed. The mare took a winding path, turning abruptly to take new directions. “Follow her closely,” Brother Mainoa called hoarsely. “She is avoiding dangerous places” So they went, a slow, splashing game of follow the leader, with Blue Star following who-knew-what.

When they had come into the swamp far enough that they could no longer see the prairies, Blue Star stopped her twisting path and led them straight along a shallow channel between two impenetrable walls of trees. This watery aisle seemed to go on for miles. At last a gap appeared in the endless line, and the mare struggled up a shallow bank and onto solid ground. “An island?” Marjorie asked.

“Safety,” Brother Mainoa said, sighing and half sliding, half falling off his horse and lying where he fell. “How? Safety?”

“The Hippae will not come in here. Nor the hounds.” He spoke from the ground, staring up through the trees to far-off glimmers of sunlight, like spangles. Like gems. His eyes would not stay open. “One did,” she contradicted. “We saw the trail.”

“Only as far as the swamp,” he acknowledged. “And then, I think, perhaps it went along the side…” His mouth fell open and a little sound came out. A snore.

“He’s old.” Rillibee said to them defiantly, as though they had accused the old man of some impropriety. “He falls asleep like that a lot.”

Sylvan had dismounted. “What do I do for her?” He asked Marjorie as he stroked the mare.

“Rub her down with something,” Marjorie said. “A clump of grass, a fistful of leaves, anything. If we’re going to stay here awhile, take the saddle off.”

“We can’t go on until he wakes up,” said Tony, indicating the supine form of Brother Mainoa.

“We can’t go on until the horses rest a little anyhow,” Marjorie sighed. “They had quite a workout. About a day and a half a night of steady walking plus a mad run. Don’t let her have much water,” she cautioned Sylvan. “Walk her until she’s cool, then let her have water.”

“Otherwise what?” Sylvan asked. “Would it kill her?”

“It could make her sick,” Tony answered him, looking up as Mainoa had done before he fell asleep. Sun spangles, very high. Something else up there, too. Something high that blocked the sun. Tony pointed. “What’s up there?”

Sylvan turned to look. “Where?”

“Right up in the top of this tree, running over to that other one…”

“This island is quite sizable,” said Father James, rejoining the group from among the trees “There’s a grassy clearing through these trees. Enough pasture there for the horses to have a good feed.”

Rillibee/Lourai pulled the saddles from Blue Star and Her Majesty and stacked them against the root buttresses of a tree. “The sun is low. It’ll be dark before long. Too dark to ride.”

“How long will Brother Mainoa sleep?”

Lourai shrugged. “As long as he needs to. He’s been up since the middle of the night, on a horse most of that time. I told you, he’s an old man.”

Marjorie nodded. “All right, then. If he rests, we will all rest. Tony?”

The boy pointed upward. “We were just trying to figure out—”

“Figure out whether there’s any firewood, while it’s still light. Sylvan, please help him. We need enough wood to last all night. Father, if you’ll find the clearest water possible and fill this bucket—”

“What about me?” Brother Lourai asked.

“You and I will be chief cooks,” she said, burrowing in the capacious baskets Irish Lass had carried. “When we have eaten we will talk about what we do next.”

Tony and Sylvan wandered toward the nearest thicket, Tony taking out his laser knife. When he used it to cut an armload of dried brush, Sylvan exclaimed, “What’s that?”

Tony gave it to him, explaining.

“Is this something new?” Sylvan asked.

“Of course not. They’ve been around forever.”

“I’ve never seen one before,” Sylvan marveled. “I wonder why.”