Shepherd (5 page)

Shep closed his eyes, then forced himself to open them. He saw the descending obsidian surface, dropping toward the swirling lava. He felt waves of heat coming from the lava, and smelled its acrid fumes. He cringed. Then he nerved himself and looked forward, moving his head slowly so as not to unbalance the sheep. Elen was there, her shapely bare bottom above the sheep's rear. What a sight, in what a situation! Then he slowly looked back. Python was there, stretching lengthwise across the last three sheep. Elen and Python had faith; Shep had mainly dread.

The line proceeded without pause. The sheep seemed unworried. They knew what they were doing. They also, if their precognition was real, knew they would make it safely across. Shep discovered that the way to abate his dread was to believe in that precognition. If their safe crossing was guaranteed, he had nothing to worry about. He merely had to trust the sheep.

It helped. That growing trust brought him emotional peace. It was almost pleasant, riding across this unusual feature of the landscape.

He heard flapping. Vulture had evidently waited until they were half across, then flown over them to arrive first.

Suddenly, it seemed, they were across. He must have tuned out, basking in the glow of his new-found faith. The trip had actually been easy. He watched the last three ewes reach the level land, so Python could slide off.

Then he turned to Elen. “I trust the sheep,” he said.

She kissed him. That chaste gesture meant more to him than her recent provocative exposure.

It was late. They foraged for fruit, washed, and lay their bags under a spreading tree. Elen took his hand and closed her eyes. “When we get to the rams’ territory, we'll have some time off. Then I will ask you to tell me more about Earth,” she said, “Then you can decide whether to risk it.”

“Risk what?”

But she was already asleep. She was evidently more tired than she had been the previous night.

Shep lay there for a time, pondering. He felt closer than ever to Elen, because now he had joined her in trusting the sheep. But he still did not know her intentions toward him. She had shown him that she could handle sex, if she chose, but she was not choosing to offer him that. Not when there was not a specific practical reason. She had to know that he was falling for her. Was she simply playing him to keep him in line? Would her interest end when this mission was completed and they were safely back where they had started? Or was there more to it than that?

He hoped it was the latter, but feared it was the former. She wanted to know about Earth? He would gladly tell her. But what was this other thing he might risk? He did not take her for a deliberate tease despite her actions. She surely had something in mind.

Unsatisfied, he finally drifted off to sleep himself, still holding her hand.

Chapter 5:

Travel

In the morning they resumed their trek. “As we get closer, the challenges get worse, for the sheep,” Elen said. “We will need your ingenuity.”

“I haven't shown much of that yet.”

“You will.”

The forest path opened onto a broad orange plain. “Here there be dire wolves,” Elen said. “They are large and fierce, and have been known to attack sheep, overwhelming them by sheer numbers and mass. They take some losses, yes, but merely eat their fallen pack-mates.”

“If the sheep can't stop them, how can I?”

“Men know how to handle fire. That's enough to make the difference.”

Ah. “I'll make torches.”

They set to work gathering torch materials while the sheep nibbled cautiously at the edge of the plain, ready to retreat into the protective woods at need. Shep was in one sense relieved to learn that the sheep were not proof against every threat. But that relief was token, while his nervousness was larger. If the sheep could not handle this crossing even with precognition, it must be formidable indeed.

Soon they they had about eight torches. Shep judged that each would burn about fifteen minutes, and they would use two at a time, so they had enough for a crossing lasting one hour. Would that suffice?

The sheep assembled at the fringe of the plain, ready to cross. It seemed that eight torches were enough. Shep struck a spark from the flint in his pack, and ignited a small fire in the dry grass at his feet. He lit a torch and gave it to Elen, then lit another for himself before stomping out the fire.

They moved out. There was no sign of any opposition. But the wolves would surely come once the party was in too deep to retreat. That gave him an idea. “Elen, douse your torch. We'll save it until we need it. We might need the extra time.”

“The sheep indicate we have enough.”

“They may have allowed for my economy.”

Elen nodded. She put her torch down to the ground and twisted it in the sand until it snuffed out.

Python came in close to the sheep. That was an indication that she sensed danger. Vulture, riding one of the sheep, spread her wings and flew in low circles above them. Then, abruptly, she descended, resuming her ride. That was her indication of immediate danger.

“Light your torch,” Shep told Elen grimly.

She crossed to him and touched her torch to his. At that moment the plain erupted with howling bodies. The dire wolves did not charge in from a distance; they had been lying in ambush, and now surrounded the party.

“Distract them enough so that they can't coordinate their attack on the sheep,” Shep said, changing the nearest shape. It was a wolf the size of a pony, heading toward the sheep. Shep ran at it with torch extended, catching it on the flank. The wolf howled in pain and jerked away. Right into the shoulder of a sheep. Blood flowed as the knife stabbed the wolf's side. So the sheep were not defenseless against these predators, merely overwhelmed—if he failed to do his job. The sheep trusted him.

Shep whirled on the next wolf, striking at its open mouth. It bit reflexively on the torch—and really howled as its mouth got burned.

Another wolf tried to sneak in behind the sheep. Suddenly Python was there, catching the wolf by the nose and flinging coils around it. The wolf howled and retreated, and Python let it go. But the wolf had been badly bitten; it was out of the fray.

Thereafter the wolves were more careful, but hardly finished. They merely got smarter, seeking better opportunities.

Vulture took off and hovered clumsily above the flock.

Two more wolves came after the hindmost sheep. Python struck again, taking the wolf's nose in her mouth and biting so it hurt. But the second wolf went not for the sheep but for Python's neck.

And was intercepted by Vulture, who plummeted from the sky, her talons clamping on that wolf's nose as her beak stabbed for its eyes. She couldn't really hurt it, but it was a nasty surprise that took it out of the immediate fray.

Both wolves fell back, and both were released, cautioned. Python and Vulture evidently knew that they could not afford to get separated from the flock. No more wolves braved the rear guard thereafter.

Meanwhile Shep and Elen continued to wield their torches, burning any wolf that came in range, while the sheep marched stolidly on, their pace never faltering.

The attack paused. Had the wolves given up? Shep did not trust that.

There was an imperative bleat. “That's the leave-me-alone warning,” Elen said. “Get away from the sheep!”

“But--”

“Trust me!”

Shep obeyed. He joined her a little apart from the sheep. Python and Vulture joined them, having heard and understood the bleat. The four of them formed a defensive cell, Shep and Elen standing back to back with torches extended, Vulture perching on Shep's backpack, Python circling them on the ground. But the wolves were not after them at the moment. They were after the undefended sheep.

A mass of bodies sprang together, six wolves rising as one, landing on the backs of the sheep. And six wolves howled as one, multiply impaled by the deadly bone blades that sprang from the backs of the sheep. The ewes had formed a phalanx, their knives projecting in an impenetrable array the moment the wolves landed. And they were still marching forward.

The wolves somehow hauled themselves off the sheep, grievously wounded. They had tried their ultimate ploy, but the sheep had known it was coming and been ready. The sheep had warned their friends clear just before it happened, so that no friend was hurt. This must be a young pack of wolves, inexperienced with sheep. They surely would not make that mistake again.

But at the moment too many wolves were hurting to organize another assault. Python, Vulture, and the two torch-wielding humans had distracted them enough to make them coordinate imperfectly, and that had cost them the battle. This time.

There were no more attacks, but Shep kept his torch lighted, just in case. They made it safely to the far side, and relaxed. But not for long, because the sheep hardly paused before resuming the march. Time was evidently of the essence. Their route led down into a bog verging into a swamp. There might be predators lurking, but they kept their distance.

“We have to cross,” Elen said. “But if the sheep's hooves get stuck in the muck, then the crocs will come.”

Shep squatted and dipped out some of the substance with his hand. “Rounded sand. That's quicksand below the water. We don't want to mess with it.”

“The sheep know.”

Python slid into the muck and disappeared. But in a moment her head surfaced, and she hissed. “She's finding the way,” Elen said. “There's solid footing there. For the sheep.”

Indeed, the sheep were wading in, going toward Python. Each dropped down to submerge momentarily, washing the blood off, then stood muddied but clear of the remnant of the battle. “Shouldn't we wait to cross until we're sure it's not a dead end?” Shep asked.

“It's not. The sheep know.”

Oh, the precognition. He still was not quite used to that. But obviously it functioned, at least at short range; the sheep had timed their knives perfectly. He and Elen waded in, following the ewes. The muck was thick, but there really was a solid surface beneath it.

In the middle of the bog the sheep halted. “We'd better check,” Elen said.

“I'll do it.” Shep made his way around the ewes, then felt carefully with his feet. The hidden path ended, in the very kind of dead end he had feared.

Python's head appeared a short way beyond. She hissed. “Oh—it resumes there?” Shep slogged toward her, sinking chest deep, but was able to move because his broad feet found better purchase than the sheep's thin hooves. He could cross, but not the sheep. The gap would have to be filled in.

“I'll need to find some rocks,” he said. “Small enough to move, large enough to be useful.

Serpent disappeared. Did she understand? The animals were coordinating beautifully, but he wasn't sure they were actually any smarter than their kinds normally were. Intelligence beyond a certain level was no asset to an animal, so was not selected for. But telepathy—that might be useful here, and would account for a lot. He kept forgetting it, and kept being reminded.

Something was bothering Shep. He paused to focus, and got it: the liquid surface of the swamp was rising. Slowly, but before long it would make the muck too deep for the sheep to traverse. The predators might be waiting for that. So the sheep were right: time was of the essence. Maybe it was a tidal flat, but how long would it be before the level sank again?

Python reappeared and hissed. Shep waded that way. Sure enough, there was a fair sized rock there. He got his arms around it, heaved, and got it up enough to carry, buoyed by the muck. He slogged back and dropped it into the gap in the path.

Python appeared in another place. Shep went there and found the next rock. He carried it back. The work continued, until he had a crude stone ramp across the gap. Would this suffice?

Evidently so. The sheep walked on across it, their sure hooves finding the purchase they needed. They were crossing in time.

Shep saw a stirring in the muck to the side. He could guess what that was: a predator, disappointed that the sheep weren't caught in an untenable situation. Another half hour might have made the difference.

They made their way across the swamp without further event. The sheep immediately grazed on the nearby grass, no longer constrained by timing. Python and Vulture relaxed.

Shep emerged, thoroughly soaked in mud. “Give me your clothes,” Elen said.

He stripped and let her have them. Nakedness hardly mattered any more. She took them to a clear patch of water and rinsed them out. Then she came back for Shep and led him to the same place so she could rinse
him
off. A day or two before, this would have been extremely awkward; now it was routine. She was more than familiar with his body, though technically they were not lovers. “You did well,” she said.

“The lout could have done it better.”

“But the sheep chose you.”

“So far I haven't done anything that the lout couldn't have handled.”

“Two things,” she said. “There must be something you can do that the lout could not do, and the sheep know it. And I would not have worked with the lout. They surely knew that.”

“Why not? You seem to know how to handle men.”

“The romance and marriage bit. He's no prospect. You are.”

“I will return to Earth within six months!”

“Yes.”

“So I am no prospect either, am I?”

“Only if you want to be.”

“What am I missing here?”

She smiled. “It will come to you in due course.”

“Dialogues with you can be as intriguing and frustrating as your holddown technique.”

Elen laughed. “Thank you, Shep.”

“That wasn't exactly a compliment.”

“It will do.”

He gave it up, as he usually did. Shep dressed in his alternate clothing and spread the wet clothing out across his knapsack as well as was feasible so it could dry as he walked.

Soon they came to another challenge: a crack in the ground leading down to more flowing lava. It was slightly too wide for them to hurdle, but seemed too long to go around. “We'll need a bridge,” Shep said.

“There used to be one,” Elen said. “I did not know it had been lost. A storm must have taken it out. I would have taken another route.”

“There are other routes?”

“Many. But each has its hazards.”

“Let me see what I can do.” Shep scouted around and found a fair number of fallen branches. There were also many long vines strewn across the trees. He gathered the wood and used his knife to cut vines. Then he used the vines to tie the crude planks together, forming a firm trestle that would surely support the weight of any of them. But there was a problem: how to get it set across the gap. He anchored one end to a tree, but needed a similar anchorage on the other side.

“Vulture can help,” Elen said.

Good idea. Shep cut a longer vine and tied one end to the leading edge of the trestle. Then he proffered the other end to Vulture. “Can you carry this across the gap?” The bird nodded. Did she really understand him? Could there really be telepathy, so that she could? If the sheep had some telepathy they could share with the others, that could do it. Yet of course they did; why did he keep doubting? “I need it passed around a stout tree, then brought back here to me.”

Vulture took the end and launched into the air. She flew across the gap, circled a tree, and flew back, still hauling the vine. Indeed, she had understood.

“Thank you, Vulture,” he said. “You have been a big help.” He could have sworn she looked pleased.

Shep hauled on the vine, using the far tree as a crude pulley to pull the trestle across the gap. When the edge reached the other side, he tied the vine to the tree on the near side, then crawled across to make sure of the anchorage and strengthen it with more vines. He had their bridge.

“Can you handle this?” he asked the sheep. “It will wobble and sway, but will get you across if your feet don't slip.”

The ewes inspected the bridge. Then they started across, stepping carefully. The bridge did wobble, but their footing was secure. He realized that if they had spot precognition, they might be placing their hooves in the particular places that gave them the firmest footing. They would know the result of bad steps, and avoid them. That would be why they were always so sure footed. Telepathy and precognition accounted for a lot.

When all the sheep were across, Shep looked at Python. “This should be easy for you.”

Python slithered readily across. Then Elen walked across, carefully balancing. Finally Shep crossed again, with his staff. “We'll leave the bridge here for our return trip,” he said, pleased with his accomplishment.

They resumed their trek. They found a suitable spot to spend the night, with grass for grazing and a fruit tree and a small clear stream.

“There will be temptation,” Elen told him as they settled for the night, holding hands as usual. “You must resist it.”

“More tempting than you?”