Grass

  "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."

  "Probably because they wouldn't let you," Tony said. "It would make a handy weapon."

  "It would, wouldn't it?" Sylvan said, turning the device over and over in his hand. He sighed, gave it back to Tony, and turned his attention to carrying wood. Still, he thought of the knife with wonder. Why hadn't he known about such things?

  Brother Mainoa awoke about the time the food was ready, quite willing to interrupt his rest to join them for supper When they had eaten, when the utensils were cleaned and put back in the panniers, they sat around the fire, waiting.

  Marjorie said, "Well, Brother Mainoa. So, we are here."

  He nodded.

  "Are we any closer to Stella than when we set out?"

  "The trail led along the swamp-forest," he said. "Outside it, unfortunately. We could not have stayed there."

  "Tomorrow?"

  "Perhaps If the Hippae have gone. Tonight we would be unable to see anything."

  She sighed.

  Tony said, "Mother, it's just as well. The horses couldn't have gone much farther."

  Marjorie was still looking at Brother Mainoa "You know something," she said. "You obviously know much more than you have told us."

  He shrugged. "What I know, or think I know, is not something I can share with you, yet. Perhaps tomorrow."

  "Will you decide?" she asked with a percipient glare.

  "No," he admitted. "No, the decision won't be mine."

  "What does it – they – want? To look us over?"

  He nodded.

  Tony asked, "What are the two of you talking about?"

  "Yes, Marjorie. What are you – ?" Sylvan asked.

  Father James gave Marjorie a percipient glance and said, "Let it alone, Sylvan. Tony. For now. Perhaps Brother Mainoa has already presumed upon his acquaintance with … well, the powers that be."

  Mainoa smiled. "A way of saying it, Father. If you can bear it, Lady Westriding, I would suggest that we rest. Sleep, if possible. We are quite safe here."

  Safety was not what Marjorie wanted, if she had been in danger of her life, at least she would have felt she was doing something. To sleep in safety meant that she was slacking while Stella was in danger, but there was no argument she could make. It was already too dark to find a trail. She rose from her place beside the fire and made her way among the trees to the grassy area where the horses grazed. There she sought the comfort from them which she did not receive from those in her company. It was only when she leaned against Quixote's side that she realized how desperately tired she was.

  Behind her the others made their beds near the fire. Tony put his mother's bed to one side, screened from the others by low brush, where she would have some privacy. When she returned, he pointed it out to her, and she went to it, grateful for his help. Silence came then, broken by Mainoa's low, purring snores, the cries of peepers distant upon the prairie, and the cries of other less familiar things in the swamp around them.

  Marjorie had thought she would lie sleepless. Instead, sleep came upon her like a black tide, inexorably. She went down into it, dreamless and quiet. Time passed, with her unconscious of it. The hand that was laid upon her arm did not wake her until it shook her slightly.

  "Ma'am." said Rillibee Chime. "I'm hearing something.

  She sat up. "What time is it?"

  "Midnight, more or less. Listen, Lady. It's sounds that woke me. People, maybe?"

  She held her breath. After a moment she heard it – them – the sounds of voices, wafted to them on a light wind which had come up while she slept. A conversation. No words she could understand, but unmistakably the sound of people talking.

  "Where?" she breathed.

  He put his hand on her cheek and pushed so that her head turned. As she faced in another direction, she heard them more clearly. "Light," she whispered.

  He already had it in his hand, a torch which shed a dim circle before their feet. He handed her another, and they walked among the trees, through the meadow where the horses grazed with a sound of steady munching, beyond the meadow into the trees once more. Rillibee pointed up. It was true. The sounds came from above them.

  She was no longer sure they were people. The sound was too sibilant for human people. And yet …

  "Like the sounds in the Arbai village," she said.

  He nodded, peering above him. "I'm going up," he said.

  She caught at him. "You won't be able to see!"

  He shook his head. "I'll feel, then. Don't wait for me. Go back to the others."

  "You'll fall!"

  He laughed. "Me? Oh, Lady, at the Friary they call me Willy Climb. I have the fingers of a tree frog and the toes of a lizard. I have stickum on my knees and the hooves of a mountain goat. I can no more fall than an ape can fall when it creeps among the vines. Go back to the others, Lady," and he was away, his torch slung about his neck, the light dwindling up the great trunk of the tree as he swarmed up it like a monkey.

  When the circle of light had dwindled to nothing, she went back the way she had come, certain now that she would not sleep again. Yet when she lay down upon her bed she found sleep waiting for her. She had time only to wonder briefly what Brother Lourai would find among the branches before she was deeply asleep once more.

  At the Friary, Elder Brother Fuasoi was sitting late at his desk, angrily turning the pages of a book. Yavi Foosh sat disconsolately on a chair nearby, yawning, trying to keep from nodding off.

  "No sign of Mainoa or Lourai, then?" Fuasoi asked for perhaps the tenth time.

  "No, Elder Brother."

  "And they didn't mention to anyone where they were going?"

  "There wasn't anybody there to mention to, Elder Brother. Mainoa and Lourai were all alone at the ruins. The library crew had changed shifts three days ago. Shoethai and me didn't take the replacement men back until this evening. When we got there, Shoethai and me went to tell Mainoa, but he was gone. Him and Lourai. We looked all through the ruins, Elder Brother." He sighed, much put upon. He had told the story four times.

  "And you found this book where?"

  "Shoethai found it, Elder Brother. On Brother Mainoa's worktable. He thought – since they were gone – there might be something written down somewhere. The book was the only writing Shoethai found. He brought it straight here to you."

  Fuasoi glared at the book, obviously a new one, with only a few pages written in. Oh, indeed there was something written down. All in Brother Mainoa's own hand. Conjecture about the plague. Wonderment that it hadn't infected Grass. Conjecture about the Moldies, and whether there might not be some on Grass. And if so, what they might be up to. Interest in the people at Opal Hill, and what they were doing, which was working to thwart the work of the Moldies. Working for Sanctity to stop the plague. To find whatever had kept Grass free of it up until now.

  He swore, slamming the book shut. Mere chance had kept Grass free of the plague until now! Mere chance. The virus hadn't come here until now because ... because it was remote. Because it simply hadn't, yet. There couldn't be anything on Grass that stopped it.

  But ... but if there were, no one could be allowed to learn of it. If they learned of it, they might stop the plague elsewhere. Mainoa and those from Opal Hill would have to be stopped. "Elder Brother?" Yavi murmured. "Yes," he snarled.

  "Could I be excused now? I've been here for a very long time."

  "Go," he growled. "Go, for God's s
ake, and send Shoethai here."

  "Shoethai, Elder Brother?" Shoethai had been dismissed an hour ago.

  "Are you deaf? I said Shoethai." Not that Shoethai would be of any help, but at least he would listen to Fuasoi talk.

  Shoethai surprised his fellow Moldy by having an idea.

  "You should send Highbones after them," the misshapen Brother suggested. "Highbones and Ropeknots and Steeplehands and the two Bridges."

  "Who the devil are you talking about?" Fuasoi blurted.

  Shoethai flushed. "The climbers. Those are some of the names they call themselves. Highbones is Brother Flumzee."

  "Why should I send climbers?"

  "Because they hate Brother Lourai. Because he climbed better than any of them. Because some of the younger brothers called him Willy Climb."

  "Willy Climb?"

  "That's the name they gave him. It's a better name than Highbones, even. When they made him climb the towers and he outclimbed them all. He got up and got down again without being caught. But Highbones had a bet he would die upon the towers, so Highbones hates him."

  "It would depend, wouldn't it?"

  "On what, Elder Brother?"

  "On where Mainoa is."

  Shoethai shrugged, his gargoyle face twisting into a hideous grin. "Doesn't matter so long as he's with Brother Lourai. If he's at Commons, Highbones would kill him there. If he's at one of the estancias, Highbones would kill him If he's out in the grasses … "

  Highbones had been one of Shoethai's most diligent persecutors. Shoethai loved the idea of Highbones out in the grasses, where the Hippae were, and the hounds.

  Elder Brother Fuasoi put the book in the drawer of his desk as he mumbled to himself. "If Mainoa is out in the grasses, we needn't worry about him. No. no. The first thing to do is find out where he went. And the most likely place is Opal Hill. I'll try that first."

  Elder Brother Fuasoi reached Persun Pollut. Persun Pollut, with a caution which was natural to him, said that he believed Brothers Mainoa and Lourai might have gone away with Lady Westriding and some other persons but he did not know where.

  Shoethai mumbled, "The daughter of that house vanished during the Hunt yesterday. Everyone is talking about it. She vanished somewhere near the bon Damfels estancia. Perhaps they went there."

  Elder Brother Fuasoi regarded his assistant with unusual interest as he keyed the tell-me once more Who would have thought that Shoethai had any interest in Grassian gossip? At Klive he reached a subordinate family member who verified that "some people from Opal Hill" had come to Klive and had gone again. "Out in the grasses," the voice said with a breathless hint of laughter, as though hysteria waited backstage for its entrance cue. "Out in the grasses, to Darenfeld's Coppice."

  "If they went in the grasses," Shoethai mumbled, "there will be a trail" He sighed with pleasure. "Send Highbones and the others to follow them."

  "On foot?"

  "No, no," Shoethai amended thoughtfully. "In an aircar. To find the trail in an aircar." He thought about aircars. It would be easy to fix an aircar so that it would fly quite a long way and then fall. "I'll get one ready for them."

  "Who did you say?"

  "Brother Flumzee. Brother Niayop. Brother Sushlee. Brothers Thissayim and Lillamool. Highbones, Steeplehands, Ropeknots, Long Bridge, and Little Bridge."

  Bones, Ropes, Steep, Long, and Little – who had tortured Shoethai too many times to be forgiven. Who didn't need to wait for the plague because they hadn't deserved the New Creation anyhow.

  "Have they hurt you?" Elder Brother asked, suddenly aware of the flame burning at the back of Shoethai's one good eye.

  Shoethai frowned and picked at a scab on his cheek, licking the blood from his finger with every evidence of relish. "Oh, no, Elder Brother. It's just that they're always bragging about who they'll do in next." He said nothing more about the aircar. Maybe it would be better not to let Elder Brother know he was going to fix it. That way, when Bones and the others didn't come back, nobody would know it was Shoethai's doing.

  Yavi Foosh had left Elder Brother Fuasoi's office only to report directly to that of Elder Brother Jhamlees Zoe, where he waited for half an hour to see his superior.

  "What's Fuasoi up to now?" Jhamlees wanted to know.

  "Shoethai found a book Brother Mainoa had been writing, and he brought it back to Fuasoi. And now Fuasoi's all in a uproar about it."

  "What's in the book?"

  "I don't know, Elder Brother. Shoethai found it, and he wouldn't let me see it."

  "He should have brought it to me!"

  "Sure he should, Elder Brother, but he didn't. I even told him he should bring it to you. But Elder Fuasoi's his bosom friend, so that's where he took it."

  "I think I'll walk on down there and see what's going on." Elder Brother Jhamlees rose from his chair and strode down the hall. Yavi Foosh stayed a sensible distance behind. He didn't want to be identified as Jhamlees' man, the way Shoethai was identified as Fuasoi's man. Once that happened, people didn't let you alone.

  The door to the office was open. The room itself was empty. Jhamlees stared at the emptiness a moment, then went in and pulled out the drawer in the desk. "This it?" he asked, waving the book as he beckoned Yavi closer.

  Yavi nodded. "That looks like it."

  "You won't say anything about this?"

  Yavi shook his head. Of course he wouldn't say anything about it. Jhamlees Zoe could take all the books in the world, and Yavi wouldn't say a word.

  Rillibee moved upward along the trunk of a giant tree, his feet finding a path in the twine of a woody vine, in the ascent of a forking branch. Branch led to branch, vine to vine, a barkway opened before him. He fumbled with the light, trading it from hand to hand as he climbed, once or twice holding it in his mouth when he needed both hands for holding on. As he came up into the first levels of foliage, however, he began to see the forest around him. The leaves glowed, some of them, or creatures upon them glowed in soft fluorescence: green puddles swam at the base of branches, yellow lines delineated twigs, blue dots gleamed from indigo masses. Branches cut darkly across these shining nebulae, these glowing galaxies, and he climbed on structures of solid shadow among moving effulgences.

  A small wind came through the trees, bearing a cloud of winged pink blossoms. When the wind died, they perched all together, turning a sapling into flame. Larger wings the color and scent of melons beat slowly from trunk to trunk, the creatures at rest assuming the shape of cups in which golden light pulsed to attract other fliers, darts of violet and a blue so pale it was almost white.

  "Joshua," Rillibee whispered. "You'd have loved this. Miriam, you … you'd have loved this."

  "Heaven," said the parrot from the top of a tree "Died and gone to heaven."

  Leaves brushed his face, exuding resinous sweetness. A hard knob of fruit knocked against his arm. He picked it, smelled of it, bit into it. Crisp, sweet-sour, the juice ran into his mouth and was followed by a tingling, almost as though the fruits themselves were effervescent.

  The sounds he had heard on the ground were all around him in the trees. Voices. One laughing. One speaking, as though telling a long story to an eager audience, interrupting itself with little side chains of sound. "You're not going to believe this, but … "

  "So then, what do you think happened?" If Rillibee closed his eyes, he could see the speaker, cheerfully telling a tale, leaning across a tavern table.

  He moved slowly through the branches. The sound faded behind him. He turned and moved toward it once more, caressing the branches with his fingers, loving them with his feet. The voices were off there somewhere among the glowing trees. He would find them eventually.

  There was something else to find as well. The girl. Stella. He had set her name beside the other names in his litany. She was to belong to him, to Rillibee Chime. Though her family was wealthy and important, still she would belong to him. Though she herself would disdain him, still …

  "Heaven," whispered the parrot above hi
m.

  So he climbed in the night hours. At dawn he found the voices when the sun slanted into their city through leaves of heartbreak gold.

  Marjorie woke to birdsong and the music of water. It took her a few moments to remember where she was and a little longer to remember the interruption in the night. When she did, she looked about for Brother Lourai. not finding him but meeting Mainoa's eyes.

  "He hasn't come back," the old man said.

  "You knew he'd gone off … "

  "I knew he woke you and you both went off. But you came back."

  "He went up there." She gestured at the high spangle of sun among the boughs. "He told me they call him Willy Climb and that he'd be all right."

  Mainoa nodded. "Yes. He will be all right. He's like you. When things get very difficult, he thinks of dying from time to time, but he's too curious about what may happen next."

  She flushed, wondering how he knew so much about her. It was true. She was curious about what would happen next. As though something awaited her, personally. Some opportunity …

  Father James returned from the nearest pool with a full bucket of water, looking alert and rested. "I haven't slept that well in weeks," he said. "I had the oddest dreams."

  "Yes," said Brother Mainoa again. "I think we all did. Something here invaded our dreams."

  Marjorie stood up and looked about her, suddenly concerned.

  "No, no." The old man rose in slow motion, grasping knobby ex-cresences on the nearest tree to lift himself up. "Nothing inimical, Marjorie. They, too, are curious."

  "They?"

  "Those I think we will meet today, later. After Brother Lourai returns."

  "Hasn't he some other name?" Tony asked.

  "Brother Lourai? Oh, yes. As a boy he was Rillibee. Rillibee Chime. You think he doesn't look like a brother?"

  "Tony is thinking that he doesn't look like the Sanctified we know," Marjorie offered. "His eyes are too big. His face too lean and intelligent. His mouth too sensitive. I always think of the Sanctified as thick, enthusiastic people with simple thoughts and a great need for answers. Old Catholics are supposed to be slender and ascetic-looking, with huge, philosophical eyes. These are stereotypes, and I'm sometimes ashamed of my thoughts, but they persist, even when I look into a mirror. You don't look like a Sanctified either, Brother. But I suppose you've used the name Mainoa for too long to give it up." She turned away in order not to see Father James' amused and evaluating gaze.