Grass (34 page)

What was she doing? The wind was strong now, blowing the smell away. What was she doing? Lying there? Flat? Only her eyes had dimension. Only her eyes.

They hurt. She blinked, noticing that they were dry, aching. She hadn't blinked, Not for a long, long time. The skin on the back of her neck itched, as though something were watching her. She turned, trying to see through the curtaining grasses. Something was out there. She couldn't see it or hear it, but she knew it was there. She wriggled back down the slope, stumbled through the grasses to find Quixote where he lay as she had left him but with his head up, ears erect and swiveling, nostrils twitching. The sun was falling toward the horizon. Tall grasses feathered the hollows with long, ominous shadows. She urged him up and mounted, letting him have his head, trusting in his ability to bring them both home if they were ever to come there again.

The stallion moved by a route more direct than the one they had taken in the morning, though still moving as though someone called his name. He was as aware as she that darkness was not far off, more aware than she of the threat abroad in the grasses. Quixote could smell what she could not, Hippae, many of them, not far away but upwind from them. They had been coming closer for the past hour, moving this way and that, as though searching. Quixote leaned into his stride, eating the prairie with his feet, returning to Opal Hill in a long curve which took him as far from the approaching Hippae as he could get, gradually lengthening the distance between them. Out there, somewhere, something approved of him. Something told him he was a good horse.

They arrived at the stables just at dusk. The stableman she had entrusted with her message was waiting for her, his eyes on the horizon as though to judge whether she had returned by sundown or not. "Message, Lady," he told her eagerly. "Your son's been looking for you. A message came for you, private. From bon Damfels' place, he thinks."

She stood beside the horse, trembling, unable to speak. "Lady? Are you all right?"

"Just … just tired," she mumbled. She felt dizzy, unfocused, unsure what had happened to her. It was like a dream. Had she really gone out alone? Into the grasses alone? She looked into the horse's eyes, finding there an unhorselike awareness which for some unaccountable reason did not surprise her. "Good Quixote," she said, running her hands down his neck. "Good horse."

She left him with a final pat and went up the path as quickly as she could, still stumbling. Tony was watching for her from the terrace. "Where've you been? You tell me not to go out there alone and then you go off for a whole day. Honestly, mother! You look awful!"

Carefully, she decided not to respond to this. No matter how she looked, she felt … better. More purposeful. For the first time since her arrival in this place, purposeful. "The stableman said something about a message?"

"From Sylvan, I think. He's the only one who calls you 'The honorable lady, Marjorie Westriding.' It's keyed for you. I couldn't read the thing."

"What on earth?"

"What on Grass, more likely. Come on."

"Where's your father?"

"Still on that damned machine." There was a catch in his voice, as though either grief or anger lurked just below the surface.

"Tony. There's nothing you can do about it."

"I keep feeling I ought to – "

"Nonsense.
He
ought to stop this nonsense. If you took part in it, too, everything would be worse than it already is."

"Well, there's no way to interrupt him, and he's got another hour or two."

She sat down at the tell-me, letting the identity beam flick across her eyes. The message began on the screen: private. for the intended recipient only.

"Tony, turn your back."

"Mother!"

"Turn. If he's said something embarrassingly personal, I don't want you seeing it." she said, wondering as she said it why she should think Sylvan would be that personal.

She pressed the release and saw the message in its entirety.

PLEAE HELP. NEED TRANSPORT FOR SELF, MOTHER, TWO OTHER WOMEN TO COMMONER TOWN. CAN YOU BRING AIRCAR QUIETLY TO BON DAMFELS VILLAGE? SIGNAL PRIVATE.

"Turn around. Tony. It's all right."

The boy read, stared, read once more. "What's going on?"

"Evidently Sylvan needs to get Rowena away from Klive but can't do it on his own. He has to do it secretly. The implication of that is that he has to keep it from someone, probably Stavenger."

"Do you think Stavenger bon Damfels found out that Rowena came here to ask about Janetta?"

"Possibly. Or maybe she's had a fight with Stavenger and is afraid. Or you make up some other story. Your plot is as likely to be true as mine is."

"I'm pretty good with the aircar by now."

"So's Persun Pollut. I need you to stay here and explain to your father if he asks where I am, which he probably won't." The bitterness in her voice was clear to the boy.

He flushed, wanting to help her but not knowing how. "Why don't you let me take them. Or send Persun alone."

"I've got to talk to Sylvan. I saw something today … " She described the cavern and its occupants in a rapid, excited whisper while he stared, asking no questions. "Metamorphosis, Tony! Like butterfly from caterpillar. The eggs must be Hippae eggs. They hatch into peepers. I didn't see that, but it's the only thing that makes sense. The peepers metamorphose into hounds, and the hounds into Hippae. A three-stage metamorphosis. I don't think the Grassians even know," she concluded. "No one's said a word about the peepers metamorphosing into hounds and the hounds into mounts. Not even Persun."

"How could they live here for generations and not know?"

She started to tell him the truth, started to say, "Because the Hippae kill anybody who spies on them." She knew it for truth, knew she had escaped only by chance. Or, remembering the way Don Quixote had moved, as though guided, for some other reason. She did not want to admit her own fool hardiness. "The taboos would prevent their finding out, Tony. They've got taboos against scarring the grasses by driving vehicles. They have no friendly mounts, like horses, so if they wanted to explore, they'd be limited to walking. There may be a taboo against that, as well. Something deep, psychological. Not merely custom. They may think it is only custom, but it's more than that. They may think they are free to do what they like, but they aren't."

"You mean they think they decided not to scar the grasses, but really – "

"Really, they had no choice. That's what I mean, yes. I think the Hippae have been directing them for … for God knows how long. I have a hunch that anyone who goes out on foot into the grasses to explore ends up dead. I had feelings when I was out there today … Don Quixote had feelings. He was terribly frightened, moving as though he were walking on eggshells. Besides, Asmir gave us quite a list of disappearances."

"And you were out there alone!" He shook his head. "Mother, damn it. What were you thinking of?" Then, looking into her shamed face, "For the love of God, Mother!"

"Tony, I made a mistake. You're not to say anything to your father that you know anything about the plague or that I was out riding today. In his present state of mind, he might blow up and start bellowing. I can't take much more of that. And then, too, Stella would be sure to find out."

"I know."

"If he wants to know where I am, tell him I've helped take Rowena to Commons. Don't mention Sylvan unless it comes up. Rigo's become very strange about Sylvan. I don't know why."

Tony saw that his mother did not, in fact, know why, though Tony himself had a very good idea what was disturbing Rigo Yrarier. While Marjorie had been dancing with Sylvan at the reception, Tony had been up on the balcony near his father and had seen his father's face.

It was full dark when Persun Pollut dropped the Opal Hill aircar at the edge of the bon Damfels village as silently as a fallen leaf.

Sylvan was waiting with Rowena and two commoner women. Rowena's face was bandaged, one arm was bound up. The two women half-carried her aboard. Marjorie wasted no time with questions or comments but told Persun to ascend immediately and get them to town as quickly as possible. Rowena bon Damfels obviously needed medical care.

"I cannot thank you enough, Lady Westriding," Sylvan said in an oddly formal tone much at variance with his disheveled look. "There was no way I could get one of our aircars away from the estancia without causing great difficulty. I apologize for my appearance. It was necessary to break down a few doors this evening, and I haven't had a chance to change since."

"Your father locked her up?"

"Among other barbarities, yes. I doubt that he even remembers he did so. The Hunt is set very deep into my father, with all its little ways."

"Where are you taking her, Sylvan?"

"I don't think father will suspect she's left the place. If he misses her and remembers what he did, he'll probably think she escaped and went out into the grasses. He may look for her, but I doubt it. Meantime, these women have relatives in Commoner Town who will keep her hidden, keep her safe."

"Are your sisters safe?"

"For the moment. Since both have lovers, I have urged them both to get pregnant as quickly as possible. Pregnant women are not expected to ride." His voice was flat, without feeling. "If there were any way to manage it, I would take them to Commoner Town as well. They would not be content to stay in hiding, however, and I'm afraid hiding is the only way they could avoid being brought back."

"They are welcome at Opal Hill, Sylvan."

"That would mean the end of Opal Hill, Marjorie." He reached out to her, touched her arm, for the moment moved from his own troubles by her concern. "You were only allowed there as a feint, a distraction, to keep Sanctity from doing something intrusive. Our … our masters do not want you on Grass. They do not want any outsiders on Grass."

"They allow Commons! They allow the port!"

"They can't get at Commons or the port. That may be all that has kept the town safe thus far. I don't know. I don't know what to do. All of us bons are so … so hypnotized. A few of the younger ones, like me, a few who haven't hunted for a few years, we can talk about things; but even with us, when we start to get close to – " He choked. When he was able to. he said, "It's better in Commoner Town. Whenever I've been there, I've been struck with how clear everything is. I can think anything I please and nothing binds on me. I can talk about anything there."

"Are you going to stay in town?"

"I can't. Father might suspect about mother if I did. He might come after her. He might start something between the estancias and the town. That could only mean … well, loss of life. Tragedy." He fell broodingly silent, his eyes on his mother's bandaged face. "Why did you and your family really come here?"

"I think Sanctity told you about the … the disease."

"Your plague, yes," he said impatiently. "We know about that." His face betrayed that he did not think it terribly important. Marjorie stared at him, wondering what he had been told, what he was being allowed to believe.

"It isn't 'our' plague, Sylvan, any more than it is your plague. It is a human plague. If it goes on for a few more decades, there will be no more human life."

He stared at her, unable to believe what she was telling him. "You're exaggerating."

She shook her head. "I'm not. Only another lifetime, Sylvan, and you here on Grass may be all the human life left in the universe. We'll be like the Arbai. Gone."

"But we here … we haven't heard … "

"There doesn't seem to be any plague here. Or there's something that stops it. You wouldn't let us send in any scientists or researchers, but you did say you'd allow an embassy. Those idiots at Sanctity thought you would accept us because of the horses, so we came, Rigo and I, to find out what we could and to talk sense to you, if you'd allow it."

"We wouldn't allow it. I should have known. That's why the Hunt masters picked those who came to your reception so carefully. No one among them who could be swayed. All old riders. Except me. And they don't know about me."

"Swamp forest coming up below," called Persun. "Where do you want me to land?"

Marjorie looked at Sylvan, and he at the two women. They conferred quietly, then asked that the car set down at the port.

Sylvan agreed. "The hospital is at the Port Hotel. Besides, we're less likely to be noticed there at this time of night."

They dropped quietly, allowed the women to depart, then took off again for Klive.

As they approached the estancia, Marjorie leaned forward to put her hand on Sylvan's arm. "Sylvan. Before you go, I have to tell you something. I came just to tell you."

She poured the story of her day's discovery at him, watching him twitch with discomfort and run his finger around his collar. She wondered whether this was something he was allowed to believe or whether counterbeliefs had been given him.

"Peeper to hound," he choked at last. "Hound to mount. That's interesting. It could explain why they hate the foxen so much. Foxen eat peepers."

"How do you know?"

"When I was a rebellious child, I found out I could stay away from the Hippae if I made my mind a blank. A little talent I have, or had then, that no one else seems to have. I used to sneak off into the grasses sometimes for hours at a time. Not very far, you understand, just farther than anyone else dared to go. If I was near a copse, I'd find a tree and climb it, then lie there with a glass and spy on all that went on. I've seen the foxen eat peepers. Peepers are easy to catch. They're nothing but a gut with some flesh around it and rudimentary legs along the sides. I'd like to see how they change."

"If you can get to Opal Hill before the lapse is over, I can show you where the cavern is."

"Getting to Opal Hill," he said, choking on his words, "would be the least of it, Marjorie. Going out into the grass would be worse. Much worse. I'm not a child anymore. I'm not as good at it as I once was. If there were any Hippae within miles of me, I'm not sure I'd be allowed to return."