Hothouse - Brian Aldiss [108]
But the torches gained on them. As they ascended up the long, long pull of the mountain, the filtered light overhead gradually increased, until they could see a blur of bodies about the torch bearers. A considerable mob of creatures was pursuing them, although as yet at some distance.
Their worries were piling up. Yattmur observed more creatures on their right flank, heading tangentially towards them. Faint barks and yippings echoed through the wastes. Undoubtedly they were being overtaken by large numbers of sharp-furs.
Now the small party was leaning forward against the drag of the hill and almost running in its anxiety.
‘We’ll be safe when we get to the top. Hup ho!’ cried the sodal encouragingly. ‘Not much farther before we see Bountiful Basin. Hup hey there, you lazy, ugly brute!’
Without word or warning his carrying man collapsed under him, pitching him forward into a gully. For a moment the sodal lay half-stunned on his back; then a flick of his powerful tail put him right way up again. He began to curse inventively at his steed.
As for the tattooed women, they stopped, and the one carrying the gourd with the morel in set it down on the ground, but neither went over to the aid of the fallen man. Gren did that, running to the bundle of bones and turning it over as gently as possible. The carrying man made no sound. The eye like an ember had closed.
Breaking into Sodal Ye’s swearing, he said angrily, ‘What have you to complain of? Didn’t this poor wretch carry you until the last lungful of air left his body? You flogged all you could out of him, so be content! He’s dead now, and he’s free of you, and he’ll never carry you again.’
‘Then you must carry me,’ answered the sodal without hesitation. ‘Unless we get out of here quickly, we shall all be torn to bits by those packs of sharp-furs. Listen to them – they’re getting nearer! So look smart, man, if you know what’s good for you, and make these women lift me on to your back.’
‘Oh, no! You’re staying there in the gully, sodal. We can get on more quickly without you. You’ve had your last ride.’
‘No!’ The sodal’s voice rose like a foghorn. ‘You don’t know what the crest of this mountain’s like. There’s a secret way down the other side into Bountiful Basin that I can find and these women can’t. You’ll be trapped on the top without me, that I promise you. The sharp-furs will have you.’
‘Oh, Gren, I’m so afraid for Laren. Let’s take the sodal rather than stand here arguing, please.’
He stared at Yattmur through the dull dawnlight. She was a blur, a chalk drawing on a rock face, yet he clenched his fist as if she were a real antagonist.
‘Do you want to see me as a beast of burden?’
‘Yes, yes, anything rather than have us all torn apart! It’s only over one mountain, isn’t it? You carried the morel far enough without complaint.’
Bitterly he motioned to the tattooed women.
‘That’s better,’ said the sodal, wriggling between Gren’s encircling arms. ‘Just try and keep your head a little lower, so that no discomfort is caused to my throat. Ah, better still. Fine, yes, you’ll learn. Forward, hup ho!’
Head well bent, back bent, Gren struggled up the slope with the catchy-carry-kind on top of him, Yattmur carrying the babe beside him and the two women going on ahead. A desolate chorus of sharp-fur cries floated to them. They scrambled along a stream bed with water washing cold about their knees, helped each other up a precipitous gravel bank, and came on to less taxing ground.
Yattmur could see that over the next rise lay sunshine. When she thought to take in the landscape about them, she observed a new and more cheerful world of slopes and hill tops showing all round. The sharp-fur parties had fallen from view behind boulders.
Now the sky was streaked with light. An occasional traverser sailed overhead, making for the night side or heading up into space. It was