Grass (54 page)

She approached the door of the house. The two climbers, their hands and feet tightly tied, glared back at her.

"Who sent you to kill Brother Mainoa?" she asked.

The two looked at one another. One shook his head. The other, Steeplehands, said sulkily, "Shoethai, actually. But the orders came from Elder Brother Fuasoi. He said Mainoa was a backslider."

She rubbed at the pain in her forehead. "Why did he think so?"

"Shoethai said it was some book of Mainoa's. Some book from the Arbai city."

"My journal," said Brother Mainoa. "I'm afraid I was careless. I must have left the new one where it could be found. We were in such a hurry to leave – "

"What were you writing about, Brother?" Marjorie asked.

"About the plague, and the Arbai, and the whole riddle."

"Ah," she said, turning back to the prisoners. "You, ah … Long Bridge. You intended to rape me, you and the others, didn't you?"

Long Bridge stared at his feet, one nostril lifting. "We was going to have a try, sure. Why not? We didn't see those whatever-they-are hanging around, so why not."

"Did you think that was a … " she struggled to find a word he might understand, "a smart thing to do? A good thing to do? What?"

"What are you?" he sneered. "You work for Doctrine? It was something we wanted to do, that's all."

"Did you care how I felt about it?"

"Women like it, no matter what they say. Everybody knows that."

She shuddered. "Were you going to kill me, then?"

"If we'd of felt like it, sure."

"Do women like that, too?"

He looked momentarily confused, licking his lips.

"Wouldn't it have bothered you? Killing me?"

Long Bridge did not answer. Steeplehands did. "We'd of been sorry, later, if we'd wanted you around and you was already dead," he mumbled.

"I see," she said. "But you wouldn't have been sorry for me?"

"Why?" Long Bridge asked angrily. "Why should we be sorry for you? Where was you when we got packed up and sent out here? Where was you when they took us away from our folks?"

Marjorie received a new picture of the two prisoners being dropped from a high tree. She drew a line across it in her mind, though more slowly than before "What do all these foxen want, Brother Mainoa? What are they here for?"

"I think they want to see what you'll do," he answered.

Father James asked, "What
are
you doing?"

"I'm trying to figure something out," she said. "I'm trying to decide whether we can afford to be merciful. The Arbai were merciful, but when confronted with evil, mercy becomes an evil. It got the Arbai killed, and it could get us killed because these two might simply come back and murder us. The question is, are they evil? If they are, it doesn't matter how they got that way. Evil can be made, but not unmade … "

"Forgiveness is a virtue," Father James said, realizing as he did so that the suggestion came from habit.

"No. That's too easy. If we forgive these two, we may actually cause another killing." She put her head between her hands, thinking. "Do we have the right to be fools if we want to? No. Not at someone else's expense."

He stared at her with a good deal of interest. "You've never spoken this way, Marjorie. Mercy is a tenet of our faith."

"Only because you don't think this life really matters. Father. God says it does."

"Marjorie!" he cried. "That's not true."

"All right," she cried in return. The sullen ache in her head was now a brooding violence inside her skull. "I don't mean
you,
Father James, I mean you, what you priests usually say. I say this life matters, and that means mercy is doing the best for them I can without allowing anyone else to suffer, including me! I won't make the Arbai mistake."

"Marjorie," he cried again, dismayed. He had had his own doubts and troubles, but to hear her talking wildly like this disturbed him deeply. She was almost violent, something she had never been, full of words that spilled from her mouth like grain from a ripped sack.

She turned to the imprisoned men. "I'm sorry. The only way I can see that we can be safe from you seems to be to allow the foxen to kill you."

"Oh, for God's sake, Lady," cried Steeplehands in dismay. "Take us into Commons and turn us over to the order officers there. We can't do nothing tied up like this."

She held her head, knowing it was a bad idea, but not knowing why. It was a very bad idea. She was sure of it. Inside her mind was an enormous question, waiting to be answered.

Father James was shaking his head anxiously, pleading with her. "Mainoa did tie them up very tightly. And we have to go to Commons eventually anyhow. We can turn them over to the order officers. They're probably no worse than half the port-rabble the order officers keep in check."

Marjorie nodded, though she wasn't convinced. This wasn't a good idea at all. This wasn't what a very small being should do. A very small being should scream danger and drop them from the highest tree..,.

The foxen nearest them twitched, brooding shadow, hatching visions. Light and shadow spun across their minds, stripes of evanescent color, jittering.

"He's dissatisfied," Brother Mainoa offered.

"So am I," Marjorie said, her eyes wild with pain. "Listen to them. All of them. And only a few of them came forward to help us. Maybe they're like I've always been. Full of intellectual guilts and doubts, letting things happen, paying no attention to how I feel."

Her head was in agony. She received a picture of foxen traveling through the trees, going away. She drew a shiny circle around it in her mind. Yes. Why not? They might as well go away. "They're going away. We must wait here for Rillibee," she announced.

A cannon went off in her brain. She crawled to her bedding and lay down to let the quiet come up around her. Gradually the pain diminished. Outside in the trees, the foxen moved away. Pictures fled through her mind: their thoughts, their conversation. She let the symbols and sounds wash through her like waves, lulling her into a drowsy half-consciousness.

The sun had moved to midafternoon before they heard a "Halloo," off in the shadows, low among the trees.

A foxen breathed among the trees, close, threatening.

"Halloo," came the voice again, closer. The threat in the trees diminished.

Marjorie struggled to her feet and went out onto the platform. "Rillibee," she called.

He came into sight below them, moving wearily among the vines. "You look tired out!" His bony face was pale. His eyes were circled with shadow, making them look enormous, like a night-dwelling creature.

"Long climb," he mumbled. "Long, long climb." He pulled himself upward, slowly upward, sliding over the railing at last in an exhausted heap. "Oh, I'm thankful for all that climbing at the Friary. All those spidery ladders, all those bridges … "

"What happened?" Brother Mainoa asked.

"Highbones tried to catch me. He couldn't. I led him off into the forest, a long, long way. Then I hid from him, let him pass me, and came back. I'd have killed him if I could have figured out an easy way to do it. Bastard."

Marjorie touched his cheek. "We can go now. Back to Commons."

Rillibee shook his head. "No. Not yet. We need … we need the foxen. I'm sorry to have wasted so much time on Highbones, but I didn't know what else to do except get them away from here. I thought they'd all come. Highbones usually likes to outnumber his opponents. But you managed to deal with the others."

"One of the foxen did."

"Ah." He sagged wearily. "I have to tell you things, Marjorie. Opal Hill has been burned by the Hippae. There's a Hippae-hound trail half a mile wide leading toward the swamp-forest. The ambassador, your husband, is at the hospital. He's going to be all right, but it was a close thing. Stavenger bon Damfels is dead, him and a dozen or so bons. They've found the bon Damfels girl in there, at the port. Dimity. The one who vanished this spring, just like they found Janetta … 

"Both of them were taken by Hippae," Marjorie said in wonderment. "And both of them ended up at the port!"

Rillibee nodded. "Naked. Mindless. Everyone at Commons is frantic over it. Janetta and Dimity got in there somehow. They couldn't come through the trees unless the foxen carried them. If the foxen didn't carry them, then there's some other way in. Has to be. And if girls can get in, maybe Hippae can get in. We have to find how they got there – "

A troubled sound from the trees.

"Now they're upset," said Brother Mainoa, rubbing his head. "They're angry. The foxen have never carried anyone anywhere until they carried you and your companions. Rillibee. The foxen thought the town was safe. They had encouraged men to build the port there, where the Hippae couldn't get at it."

"Encouraged?" asked Marjorie.

"You know." Brother Mainoa sighed. "Encouraged. Influenced. As they do."

She felt the foxen retreating. "Where are they going?"

"They've gone to look for the way Rillibee says must be there. As they went they were thinking of migerers."

"Diggers? They suspect a tunnel, then."

"Something like that." Mainoa gave a weary shudder, putting his head into his hands. "Marjorie, at this moment, I'm a tired old man. I'm incapable of helping to look for tunnels."

Rillibee put his arms around the old man. "I'm a very tired young one, Brother. If the foxen are searching, let's let them do it. I need a little rest. Unless you think they need our help … "

"They'll do it," Brother Mainoa said. Whether they would or not, he could do no more. Marjorie crept back to her bed, feeling the pain ebb once more as she fell into sleep, empty this time of all foxen dreams. Rillibee lay sprawled like a child. Mainoa huddled into himself, snoring slightly. Father James sat by the railing, wondering what had really happened to Marjorie, what she had really seen or dreamed. Long Bridge and Steeplehands sulked and muttered to one another, chafing at their bonds.

Even before First returned late in the afternoon, they knew the way into Commons had been found. When He was yet some distance off, horses and riders swam into their minds, and they knew what He intended. Mounted once more, they were led in a circuitous route as they crossed quiet pools, forded dark streams, and rode down long, splashing alleys. Without a guide, it would have been impossible to find their way. Some pools were shallow water over sucking sands. Some were full of deadly sharp root knees. They knew, because the foxen showed them.

They came out onto the grass near the pool where they had found Stella. Near where she had lain, great sheaves of grass had been torn up, turf had been ripped away to expose a gaping tunnel mouth, wide and dug deep and mortared up as the Hippae caverns were. The grass had hidden it. When they had found Stella, all of them had been within yards of it without seeing it.

"Migerer work," said Brother Mainoa.

Somewhere a foxen cried out, a great, world-freezing cry.

"Devil's work," Mainoa amended. "So say our guides. This tunnel goes deep beneath the swamp. One of the foxen has been through it, all the way to the port."

It was not necessary to ask who had used it before The tripartite hoofprints of the Hippae were everywhere inside it, everywhere except where the trickle of water had washed them away. "In," they were urged "Through! Quickly!"

Marjorie, leading Don Quixote, went into the opening and was immediately soaked by the drip of murky water seeping through the soft stone above. The others trailed behind her, swearing softly at the dank air, the stench of droppings, the sog of the surface beneath their feet. The prisoners cursed and dragged at the ropes that held them. The tunnel top was not high enough for any of them to ride sitting up. It was barely high enough for Irish Lass to walk with her head down, her ears brushing the end of muddy roots which straggled through from above. The lights they carried lit their way, though inadequately. Horse and human feet splashed and sucked at the half-muck, half-rock beneath them.

"Foxen coming behind us," called Rillibee from his position at the rear. "I think. I feel them there. This tunnel isn't even tall enough for Hippae."

"High enough if they stalk," said Brother Mainoa. "Like great lions. One at a time. Slowly. But it was not made for them."

Within yards of the entrance the tunnel began to slope steeply down. The trickle of water, which had been running outward, reversed itself and began to flow in the direction of their travel The horses sat back upon their haunches as the steep slope continued, whickering in protest. Something told them to go on, trilling at them, a summoning noise. The floor leveled and the water became deeper. They went on into darkness, water falling, water splashing, the darkness above them seeming to enfold them.

Marjorie flicked her light along the tunnel walls, finding numerous small holes where the walls met the water. "What are those?" she asked.

"I should think drain holes," replied Father James. "All this water has to go somewhere."

"Where? It can't run uphill!"

"We're actually in a hill," Brother Mainoa said, coughing. "All of Commons, including the swamp forest, lies in a rocky basin higher than the surrounding prairie. It's like a bowl on a table. If one drills holes in the bowl, the water will drain away."

"Do you think migerers dug all this?" she asked.

He coughed again, wrackingly. "I think so, yes. I think the Hippae told them to do it."

"Through rock?"

"Partly through rock. This looks like a fairly soft stratum. They can dig in soft stone. I've seen them."

"How much farther?" she wondered aloud.

After a time Brother Mainoa responded. "There's something just ahead."

What was just ahead was a side chamber of the tunnel, one made tight and dry and furnished with a pile of grasses. Marjorie used her light to examine the chamber. The floor was littered with scraps of underclothing, with two left boots, with a much-tattered Hunt jacket. "She was here," Marjorie said, "Janetta."

"And someone else." Brother Mainoa sighed, pointing at the boots. "Two left feet worth of someone. Janetta and Dimity bon Damfels, perhaps."