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addition, the largest member of the party was now once more fully alert and
sensible. It swung its own leaf-ends back and forth, tearing great gouges out
of the earth, shredding blossoms and leaves, stems and roots, with equal
indifference.
In the immediate vicinity of their flight the devastation was shocking. Whole
communities of blooms were destroyed. But the demise of a few thousand flowers
was as nothing to the ocean of color that covered the hills. It would take
only one growing season for the despoiled route to be fully regenerated, and
new seeds would welcome the gift of open space in which to germinate.
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Into the Thinking Kingdoms: Journeys of the Catechist, Book 2
Eventually, each family of flowers gave up the idea of enlisting the travelers
in the fight for control of the dried bogland. Instead of trying to restrain
the visitors, they inclined their stems out of the way, allowing the
remarkable but dangerous specimens free and unfettered passage through the
hills. As the ripple of understanding passed through endless fields of
brilliant color, a path opened before the travelers. At first they were
reluctant to put up their murderous leaves and continued to hack and cut at
every blossom within reach. But their suspicion soon ebbed, and they marched
on without doing any more damage, increasing their pace as they did so.
Behind them, in the expansive hollow once occupied by the bog, violets
wrestled with hollyhocks, and periwinkles took sly cuts at the stems of
forceful daffodils. The war for the new soil went on, the adventure of the
intruders already forgotten. Once, a small would-be sapling sprang from the
dirt to reach for the sun. It might have been a sycamore, or perhaps a poplar.
No one would ever know, because a knot of active foxglove and buttercup sprang
upon it and smothered it. Deprived of light, it withered and died.
No tree was permitted to grow on the lush, fecund hills. No mushroom poked its
cap above the surface, no toadstool had a chance to spread its spores across
the fertile soil. From hill to dale, crest to crevice, there were only the
flowers. They throve madly, creating a canvas of color unmatched anywhere, and
waited for the next visitors. Perhaps others would be more amenable to
persuasion, or more flowerlike in their aspect.
It was truly the most beautiful place imaginable. But for one not a flower, a
chancy place to linger and smell the roses.
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Into the Thinking Kingdoms: Journeys of the Catechist, Book 2
VIII
They did not stop until that evening, when they had ascended to heights where
only a few wildflowers grew. Unlike the millions that covered the hills from
which they had fled, these were most emphatically nonaggressive.
Ehomba laid Simna down at the base of a large tree with far-spreading limbs
and deeply grooved bark so dark it was almost black. A small stream meandered
nearby, heading for the flower hills and the distant sea. In another tree a
pair of crows argued for the sheer raucous delight of hearing themselves caw.
Ahlitah stood nearby, shaking his head as he stumbled nowhere in particular on
unsteady legs, trying to shake off the effects of the insidious perfume. He
had handled the effects better than the swordsman, but if Ehomba had not
apprised him of what was happening and helped to hurry him out of the hills,
he too would surely have succumbed to the second cloud of invisible perfume.
Simna must have taken the brunt of the first discharge, Ehomba felt. A
blissful look had come over the swordsman s face and he had gone down as if
beneath the half dozen houris he spoke of so frequently and fondly. Then the
flowers, the impossible, unreal, fantastic flowers, had actually picked him up
and started to carry him off to some unimaginable destination of their own.
The herdsman had drawn the sky-
metal sword and gone grimly to work, trying not to think of the beauty he was
destroying as he cut a path to liberate his friend. The blossoms he was
shredding were not indifferent, he had told himself.
Their agenda was not friendly. The intervention of active thorns and
sharp-edged leaves and other inimical vegetation had been proof enough of
that. His lower legs were covered with scratches and small puncture wounds.
The litah had fared better. Unable to penetrate his fur, small, sharp objects
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caused him no difficulty.
Unsteady as he was, he had still been able to clear away large patches of
flowers with great swings of his huge paws. Now he tottered about in circles,
shaking his head, his great mane tossing violently as he fought to clear the
effects of the concentrated fragrance from his senses.
Electing to conserve the safe town water that filled the carrying bag in his
pack, Ehomba walked to the stream and returned with a double handful of cool
liquid. He let it trickle slowly through his long fingers, directly over the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]