Hothouse - Brian Aldiss [47]
‘The way out of the forest is only just ahead,’ Yattmur ventured. She had handed the captive jumpvils to one of the other women, and now came forward to hear what Gren was saying.
‘We will lead you farther than that,’ he told her.
‘Will you free us from the spirit of the Black Mouth?’ Hutweer enquired boldly.
‘You shall be led as you deserve,’ Gren declared. ‘First my fellow spirit Poyly and I desire food and sleep, then we will talk with you. Take us now to your place of safety.’
Hutweer bowed – and disappeared into the ground beneath her feet.
chapter thirteen
____________________________________________________
The tortured lava bed on which they were standing was pierced by many holes. Under some of these, the earth had fallen away or had been scooped out by the herders to form a hideout below ground level. Here they lived in something like safety and something like darkness, in a cave provided with boltholes conveniently situated overhead.
With Yattmur helping them, Poyly and Gren were induced to go down into the gloom more gently than Hutweer had done. There they were seated on couches and a meal was brought to them almost at once.
They tasted jumpvil, which the herders had flavoured in a way unknown to the two travellers, with spices to make it tempting and peppers to make it hot. Jumpvil, Yattmur explained, was one of their chief dishes; but they had a speciality, and this was now set before Gren and Poyly with some deference.
‘It is called fish,’ Yattmur said, when they expressed their satisfaction with it. ‘It comes from the Long Water that pours from the Black Mouth.’
At this, the morel became attentive and made Gren ask, ‘How do you catch this fish if it lives in water?’
‘We do not catch them. We do not go to the Long Water, for a tribe of strange men called Fishers live there. Sometimes we meet them, and as we are at peace with them we exchange our jumpvil for their fish.’
The life of the herders sounded pleasant. Trying to work out exactly what their advantages were, Poyly asked Hutweer, ‘Are there not many enemies around you?’
Hutweer smiled.
‘There are very few enemies here. Our big enemy, the Black Mouth, swallows them. We live near the Black Mouth because we believe one big enemy is easier to deal with than a lot of small ones.’
At this the morel began to confer urgently with Gren. Gren had now learnt to talk in his mind with the morel without speaking aloud, an art Poyly never mastered.
‘We must examine this Mouth of which they talk so much,’ the morel twanged. ‘The sooner the better. And since you have lost face by eating with them like an ordinary human, you must also make them a stirring speech. The two must go together. Let us find out this Mouth and show them how little we fear it by speaking there.’
‘No, morel! You think clever but you don’t think sense! If these fine herders fear the Black Mouth, I am prepared to do the same.’
‘If you think like that, we are lost.’
‘Poyly and I are tired. You do not know what tiredness is. Let us sleep as you promised us we could.’
‘You are always sleeping. First we must show how strong we are.’
‘How can we when we are weak from tiredness?’ Poyly interposed.
‘Do you want to be killed while you sleep?’
So the morel had its way, and Gren and Poyly demanded to be taken to look at the Black Mouth.
At this the herders were startled. Hutweer silenced their murmurs of apprehension.
‘It shall be as you say, O Spirits. Come forth, Iccall,’ she cried, and at once a young male with a white wishbone in his hair jumped forward. He held his palm upwards in greeting to Poyly.
‘Young Iccall is our best Singer,’ Hutweer said. ‘With him you will come to no harm. He will show you the Black Mouth and bring you back here. We will await your return.’
They climbed up again in the broad and everlasting daylight. As they stood blinking, feeling the hot pumice beneath their feet, Iccall smiled brilliantly at