Into the thinking kingdoms - Alan Dean Foster [28]
“It won’t be the fen that turns you back,” the orang informed him. “It’ll be the horses.”
“Horses?” Ehomba made a face. “What is a horse?”
“By Gleronto’s green gaze!” Simna gaped at his friend. “You don’t know what a horse is?”
Ehomba eyed him impassively. “I have never seen one.”
The swordsman did not try to disguise his disbelief. “Tall at the shoulder, like a big antelope. Leaner than a buffalo. Like a zebra, only without stripes.”
“Ah! That I can envision.” Confident once more, the herdsman turned his attention back to their host. “Why should a few horses keep us from crossing the marsh?”
The old ape squinted, staring past them at the concealing reeds and enshrouding bullrushes. “Because they’re mad, that’s why.”
“Mad?” Turning his head to his right, Simna spat, just missing the porch. “What are they mad at?”
With his softly smoking pipe, the orang made stabbing gestures at the swordsman. “Not angry-mad. Insane-mad. Crazy as loons. Deranged, the whole great gallumphing lot of ’em.” He stuck the pipe back in his mouth and puffed a little harder. “Always been that way, always will be. They’re why nobody can get across the marsh. Have to follow the coast for weeks in either direction to get around, it, but can’t get across. Horses. Lunatics on four legs. And a couple of ’em have eight.” He nodded meaningfully, seconding his own wisdom.
“That’s impossible.” Simna found himself starting to wonder about their hirsute host’s sanity.
“It’s more than impossible, no-lips. It’s crazy.” The orange-haired ape fluttered an indifferent hand at the endless reach of rush and reed. “But you three go on. You’ll see. You’ve got my little flat-bottom there. Paddle and pole to your hearts’ content. Who knows? Maybe you’ll get lucky. Maybe you’ll be the first to make it across. But me, I don’t think so. Them horses are thorough, and they’ve got big ears.”
For the moment, Ehomba chose to accept the old man of the forest’s narrative as truth. As a youth he had learned not to disparage even the most outrageous tale, lest it turn out, to his embarrassment and detriment, to be true. As they had already learned on their journey, the world was full to overflowing with the unexpected. Perhaps it was even home to insane horses.
“I do not understand. Sane or otherwise, why should a herd of horses care whether anyone crosses this marshland or not?”
Thick lips concaved in a simian smile. “Why ask me? I’m only a semiretired fisherman. If you want to know, ask the horses.”
“We will.” Rising from his crouch, Ehomba turned and stepped off the porch. “Let us go, Simna.”
“Hoy.” Favoring the ape with a last look of skepticism, the swordsman pivoted to follow his friend.
The boat wasn’t much, but the edge of the marsh was not the grand harbor of Lybondai. It was all they had been able to find. There had been other fisherfolk, with other boats, but none willing to rent their craft to the travelers. Without exception all had declined sans an explanation. Now the reason for their reluctance was clear. They were afraid of losing their craft to the horses.
With its flat, sturdy bottom and simple low wooden sides, the boat more nearly resembled a loose plank with seats. There was a rudder, which helped them to locate the stern, and the prow was undercut to allow the occupants to propel it over obstructing water plants. There were no paddles, only poles.
“Shallow all the way across, then.” Simna hefted one of the tough, unyielding wooden shafts.
“So it would seem.” Ehomba had selected a slightly longer rod and was similarly sampling its heft.
“Sadly,” declared Ahlitah as he hopped lithely into the unlovely craft, “I have no hands, and can therefore not help.” Curling up in the center of the floor, he promptly went to sleep.
“Cats.” Shaking his head, the swordsman eyed the litah with digust. “First cats and now, it would seem, maybe horses.” Placing one end of his pole in the water, he strained as he and Ehomba shoved hard against the sodden shore. “I don’t like animals that much. Except when they’re well done, and served up in a proper sauce.