Into the thinking kingdoms - Alan Dean Foster [35]
“In our collective anger and frustration, we long ago vowed that for so long as we cannot cross out from this place, none shall cross through. It is a way of expressing our solidarity, our herd-self. Our horseness. You, too, will have to turn around and go back.”
“Be reasonable.” Feeling a little less endangered, a little bolder, Simna waded out into the water to stand beside his friend. “We mean you no harm, and we’re not responsible for your situation here.”
“I would be reasonable,” declared the Argentus earnestly, “but before I can be reasonable I must be horse. Solidarity is the essence of the herd.”
“All of you have at one time or another passed this way, and all of you became trapped here. You say that what you do best is run, yet you cannot run free of this dank, clinging slough.” Ehomba’s chin rested in his free hand. Watching him, Simna was certain he could actually hear the herdsman think. “It must be wearying to have to run always in water. Perhaps if you had a better, firmer surface you could run easier, run faster.” Looking up from his meditation, he locked eyes with the empathetic Argentus. “You might even find a way to run out of this marsh.”
“Unfounded speculation is the progenitor of disappointment,” the horse that not yet was murmured dolefully.
“I agree, but without speculation there is no consequence.”
Simna’s spirits soared as he saw Ehomba silently swing his unprepossessing pack off his shoulders. “Now tell me, Sorcerer-not, what wonder are you intending to pluck from that raggedy bag? A rainbow bridge to span the marshland? A roll of string that will uncoil to become a road?” He looked on eagerly. Feigning disinterest, Ahlitah could not keep himself from similarly glancing over to see what the unassuming herdsman was up to.
“I command nothing like that.” As he searched the pack’s interior, Ehomba gave his hopeful friend a disapproving look. “You expect too much of a few simple villagers.”
“If I do,” Simna responded without taking his eyes off the paradoxical pack, “it’s because I have seen firsthand what the efforts of a few simple villagers have wrought.”
“Then you may be disappointed.” The herdsman finally withdrew his hand from the depths of the pack. “All I have is this.” He held up a tiny, yellow-brown, five-armed starfish no more than a couple of inches across.
Simna’s expression darkened uncertainly. “It looks like a starfish.”
“That is what it is. A memory from the shores of my home. The little sack of pebbles in my pocket I packed myself, but before I left I did not see everything my family and friends packed for me. I came across this many days ago.”
“It’s—a starfish.” Leaning forward, Simna sniffed slightly. “Still smells of tidepool and surge.” He was quite baffled. “Of what use is it except to remind you of the ocean? Are you going to wave it beneath that stallion’s nose in the hopes it will drive him mad for salt water, and he will break free of whatever mysterious bond holds him here and lead the entire herd to the shores of the nearest sea?”
“What a wild notion.” Ehomba contemplated the tiny, slim-limbed echinoderm. Its splayed arms did not cover his palm. “Something like that is quite impossible. I am surprised, Simna. I thought you were a rational person and not one to give consideration to such bizarre fancies.”
“Hoy! Me? Now I’m the one with the bizarre fancies?” Mightily affronted, he stabbed an accusing finger at the inconsequential sand dweller. “Then what do you propose to do with that scrap of insignificant sea life? Give it to the tomorrow horse to eat in hopes it will make him think of the sea?”
“Now you are being truly silly,” Ehomba chided him. “Starfish are not edible.” Whereupon he turned to his left, drew back his arm, and hurled the tiny five-armed invertebrate as far as he could.
A mystified Simna watched it fly, its