Sheri Tepper - Grass

“You’ll bite more than that if you don’t hold on.”

They slipped sideways, then recovered just long enough for Bones to set it down in a long, sliding skid through lashing grasses which ended with all of them thrown against the door, which broke open and spilled them out onto the bruised stems.

“Oh, God,” whined Steep. “Oh, God.”

“Shut up,” commanded Highbones. “If the Hippae don’t know we’re here, don’t go telling them we are.” He stood up, feeling himself to make sure he was all there, not broken anywhere, not bleeding. Aside from a graze along his jaw, he was whole. “Rope, you all right? Long? Little?”

“All right, I guess.”

“Fucking thing hit me right across my nose…”

“Think I broke something.”

Highbones slapped and snarled. “You didn’t break anything. Lie down and your nose’ll stop bleeding.” When he was sure they were all accounted for, he turned back to the car and tried the door to the rear compartment. It was jammed, or locked from inside. He hammered on it, trying to make enough noise to rouse those inside yet not enough to rouse something else out in the grass. “Elder Brother!”

Nothing. No response.

He turned to the forward cabin and dug out the packs they had brought with them.

“Listen,” said Little Bridge with a frightened look at the sun. low in the western sky. “If we’re going to be here after dark, we oughta stay in the car. If some Hippae find us, there’d be some protection being in there.”

“Swamp forest just ahead,” said Highbones. “We’re going there.”

“Swamp forest! Are you crazy?”

“I said, we’re going there. Anybody wants to stay here can stay. Anybody feels like trying to fix the car, that’s up to you. I’m going to the forest. Hippae don’t go in the forest.”

“Neither do people,” muttered Steeplehands. “Or they come out dead.” He was careful not to say it loudly.

Highbones didn’t answer. He was already halfway back to the trail they had been following when the car zizzed out. When he reached it, he turned to his right and started down it. Those who has passed this way had broken enough of the tall and tough grasses that it wasn’t difficult to walk in the stubble. Though he didn’t look back, within moments he heard the others blundering along behind him. He hoped they’d picked up their own packs; he didn’t intend going back for them.

Inside the rear cabin, Shoethai came to himself slowly. Both he and the Elder Brother had been thrown against the door, or rather, thrown against the latch bar which held it closed. He looked upward through the viewport. Sky. Darkening sky.

“Elder Brother!”

Fuasoi put his hands under himself and pushed himself into an upright position. “What happened?”

“We… it… it came down.”

“You serviced it!”

“We… I… I didn’t know we’d be on it!”

“You did this?”

Shoethai was silent, crouched in a faceless huddle. The irony of it didn’t escape Fuasoi. He laughed, one short bark of laughter. “Hated them, did you?” he asked, not expecting a response. “Thought you’d kill two birds with one stone — or more than that?” He received only a snivel in reply. “Let’s get out of here. You know you may have just lost your chance in the next world, Shoethai. I’m not sure the Creator is going to look kindly on you.”

Shoethai screamed in rage and threw himself at Fuasoi. The latch on the door jarred loose and spilled them out, Shoethai still screaming.

Fuasoi knocked his assailant aside and got to his feet. Shoethai cowered among the grasses, alternately sobbing and yelling. The carrying bag had fallen out with them. Fuasoi unfastened it and took out the package it contained. The virus. Well. He had intended to spread it about in Commons, but perhaps it would have to be trusted to the winds. He reached for his knife and slit the package.

And stopped. Coming through the grasses was a hound. A huge hound. Grinning at him.

Reflex action took over. He threw the package with all his strength and then tried to scramble back into the car. The package burst, spreading its dark, powdery contents over the approaching beast. Shoethai had time for one more howl.

From the crest of a long ridge, Highbones and the others heard howling behind them at the same moment they could look down on the stretching barricade of trees. The sound behind them was almost gleeful. For a time it stayed where it was, yammering. Highbones and the others did not remain where they were. As they ran, however, the sound grew nearer, coming on their trail. Highbones ran faster than he had known he could, hearing the thump and pant of Steeplehands and Long Bridge close behind him. The other two had fallen back. They had shorter legs. Little Bridge was still a kid.

“Wait,” yelled Ropeknots “Wait for us.”

“Wait, hell,” breathed Steeplehands, drawing slightly ahead.

Their feet hammered on the ground as the howling neared. Behind the leaders came one scream, then another. Whatever was chasing them stopped for a moment. Highbones and the two close behind him did not stop to see what it was.

In a moment the howling started again. Though it came very swiftly, it had not caught them by the time they splashed through the shallow mire at the edges of the forest. They stopped only when they came to the first deep pools gleaming with oily reflections in the dying of the daylight.

“Now what?” Long Bridge demanded. “You want to go wading in there?”

“Not likely,” said Highbones. His eyes were fixed on vine-draped trees towering from liquid depths. “Not likely.” He laid a hand on the nearest vine and asked, “Will he climb?” as he swung himself up, feet pushing him along a spiraled vine-trunk and onto the first branch above their heads. “Will he?”

They stopped halfway up to look back the way they had come. The grass moved ominously, but there was nothing there to see. Of Little Bridge and Ropeknots, no sign. They waited, then Steeplehands said, “They’re deaders, Bones, lust like on the towers. No different than that.”

The three exchanged glances, then lofted themselves with the ease of long practice, moving effortlessly into the heights.

In his private quarters at the Friary, Administrator Jhamlees Zoe sought among a miscellany of papers for the packet which had come from Sanctity, from his old friend Cory Strange. He had sealed it up and hidden it to keep it safe from prying eyes. Now that he had seen Mainoa’s book, he needed to read the letter again.

The packet had a security wrap on it, and Jhamlees had to stop several times to remember the proper sequences to prevent the thing from going off in his hands and taking his face with it. All this nonsense. Well, what was the office of Security and Acceptable Doctrine to do with itself, back there on Terra, if it did not engage in these senseless exercises. Coded cover letters. Explosive wraps.

Once he had burrowed his way into the packet, Jhamlees skimmed the pages, reminding himself that he was expected to inform his old friend if anything at all were discovered on Grass, Jhamlees referred to the enclosed itinerary with a pout of frustration. Much though he would have liked to seal his former friendship with the Hierarch, there was no point in attempting to send word about this Mainoa matter. The Hierarch was already on the last leg of his journey to Grass.

Jhamlees folded the letter and thrust it into his pocket. No more need to keep it. He’d dispose of it later. The rest of the packet — twelve pages of sanctimonious hash and the publicly announced itinerary of the Hierarch — could be left out where anyone could see it.

Advance word or no advance word, when the Hierarch arrived he would expect his friend Nods to know anything there was to be known. Mainoa had written as though those at Opal Hill knew something, or as though he, Mainoa, knew something. Question: Was there a cure? That’s what the Hierarch would want to know! Brother Mainoa had gone off somewhere, so he couldn’t be asked until and unless he was found. That left the only other one who might know. Roderigo Yrarier. Not even one of the Sanctified! A heretical Old Catholic, no better than a pagan!